


Tomorrow, Tomorrow

by intrajanelle



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: A Panic Attack, Anxiety Disorder, Characters who should probably see therapists, F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, No Actual Singing (I apologize), One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 21:13:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6770125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intrajanelle/pseuds/intrajanelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adoption was Pepper’s idea. The second it came out of her mouth Tony was confused. How was adopting a mangy animal going to convince his board that he was responsible enough to be the CEO of the largest innovative technology manufacturer in the country? It turned out Pepper wasn’t thinking of cats and dogs. She was thinking of something a little more permanent, a little taller, almost entirely hairless, but still just as scrawny as Tony expected. A kid. A boy to be precise. Eleven-years-old, blond and blue-eyed and tight-fisted.</p>
<p>In which Little Orphan Annie is Steve Rogers, Daddy Warbucks is Tony Stark, and everyone tries not to break into song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow, Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [annaincognita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annaincognita/gifts).



> I have been writing and ruminating over this fic for 1.5 years at this point. Literally. I started writing this after I saw the new Annie in theaters. The only thing I can even think to say at this point is I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed obsessing over it. This is for Joanna because she's had to listen to me rant about this thing for aforementioned 1.5 years. 
> 
> Look Jo!! I finished a fic!!

  **CHAPTER 1:**

 

Adoption was Pepper’s idea.

 

The second it came out of her mouth Tony was confused. How was adopting a mangy animal going to convince his board that he was responsible enough to be the CEO of the largest innovative technology manufacturer in the country?

 

It turned out Pepper wasn’t thinking of cats and dogs. She was thinking of something a little more permanent, a little taller, almost entirely hairless, but still just as scrawny as Tony expected. A kid. A boy to be precise. Eleven-years-old, blond and blue-eyed and tight-fisted.

 

Pepper stood with him just inside the penthouse. Tony had stared since they got off the elevator. All he could think about was that he didn’t even know what kids _ate_. At least with cats there was cat food and with dogs there was dog food, but kids? Maybe kids meals. Maybe McDonald’s was his new best friend.

 

Pepper glared at him like she could read his mind and she disapproved. Tony’s thoughts spiralled past Pepper’s anger and he realized he knew exactly two kids, personally, and that he’d been forbidden from babysitting them at any point in the near future. How could Pepper possibly think _him_ raising one from scratch was the best idea?

 

Although, to be fair, this kid, although scared and small, looked less likely to dissolve into tears than Jane and Thor’s baby daughter, Torunn, and less likely to intricately plan his demise than his distributor’s thirteen-year-old, Natasha. The kid looked like he needed a sandwich, a hug, a cup of hot cocoa, and possibly a new baseball hat; because the one he was wearing was big and worn and falling into his eyes.

 

“Tony,” Pepper said, squeezing the kids shoulder, “this is Steve. Steve Rogers. Steve, this is Tony Stark.”

 

Tony rose from where he’d been sitting on the couch and approached the pair slowly, aware that he’d been fiddling with the design for a new security system for two days and had neither slept nor eaten in three and that what this kid saw was not quite the same Tony Stark that was pasted all over Entertainment Today with three women in his lap. He ran a hand through greasy hair and put on an easy, false smile.

 

“Hey there, kid. Um, what’s up?”

 

Steve Rogers wrinkled his little freckled nose. “Your breath smells bad.”

 

Tony clamped his mouth shut and glared. He had a brilliant witty retort on the tip of his tongue but if he opened his mouth to say it the kid was just gonna get a face full of his undoubtedly foul breath, and Tony was an asshole to adults, not to orphan kids.

 

“You should brush your teeth twice a day, or else they’ll fall out of your head,” Steve said resolutely.

 

Tony narrowed his eyes and was reconsidering whether or not to adamantly defend himself when Pepper pushed Steve past him.

 

“Alright then,” she said. “Steve, why don’t you sit on the couch while I get Mr. Stark cleaned up. Make yourself at home.”

 

“It’s Tony,” Tony said as Pepper manhandled him into the hallway. “I refuse to respond to Mr. Stark, it makes me feel old and senile.”

 

He didn’t get to see if Steve heard him and only got control of his own faculties again after Pepper shoved him into his bedroom and closed the door behind them. Tony raised his eyebrows.

 

“Well, well, well. We’ve been parents five minutes and you’re already clamoring for a quickie before we take junior to baseball practice? How forward of you,” Tony said, flopping onto his bed.

 

Pepper ignored him and opened his top drawer. She found him clean underwear and socks and then strode to the walk-in closet. She began to pick out fresh clothes before shouting over her shoulder: “You’re the parent here, legal guardian and all that.”

 

Tony squawked. “I did _not_ sign anything. I refuse to accept that I am now legally attached to another human being until I see it in print. I have rights, Pepper.”

 

Pepper folded a pair of pants and a t-shirt over her arm, grabbed loafers with her free hand and raised an eyebrow at him. “And what do you think those legal documents I had you sign two days ago were for, Tony? Taxes?”

 

Tony stared at her uncomprehendingly for nearly ten seconds. Which was an accomplishment seeing as he was one of the brightest minds in the Northern Hemisphere, according to him. Also according to him, Pepper was manipulative and evil and he would fire her in a heartbeat if he wouldn’t be useless without her.

 

“Why are you doing this to me?” Tony groaned dramatically, turning onto his back.

 

Pepper placed his clothes at the end of his bed and crossed her arms.

 

“Because, _Mr_. Stark, if something isn’t done soon your Board of Directors is going to take Stark Industries from you. You need to shape up. And if you don’t not only will you lose your job, but _I’ll_ lose _my_ job. If the board sees you responsibly handling a child they might be fast to reconsider. Also, this adoption is on a trial basis. You have one week and, honestly, one week with that kid,” Pepper pointed a thumb toward the living room, “could do you a hell of a lot of good.”

 

Tony sighed dramatically and stared at the ceiling. For the most part Pepper was not wrong, but he’d sooner willingly drink Dunkin Donuts coffee than admit it. He could not understand how becoming an eleven-year-old’s glorified babysitter for a week was going to do him a ‘hell of a lot of good.’ Besides the obvious, practical reasons behind the trial adoption, there wasn’t much Tony expected to glean from a scrawny kid.

 

“Now, you’re going to take a shower, _brush your teeth_ , and sit down for lunch at your kitchen table. We’re getting pizza,” Pepper said. She closed the door behind her with a ‘woomf’ that Tony felt deep in his soul.

 

At least Pepper solved the puzzle of what to feed the kid. Junk food. Lots of cheese and bread and carbs. Duh. He should’ve thought of that earlier.

 

When he was presentable Tony walked into the kitchen like he was sneaking up on a skittish animal. Pepper wasn’t there, the traitor. Tony had had a suspicion that she’d abandon him so he could ‘bond’ with his new charge and it seemed he was right. She left him three boxes of pizza, a liter of Coke, a stack of paper plates, and Steve, sitting at the table, swinging his legs.

 

A slice of pizza sat untouched in front of the kid.

 

Tony took a seat across from him and felt uncharacteristically speechless. Foregoing conversation or a plate, he grabbed a slice of pizza and took a large bite.

 

Steve just watched with calm blue eyes, like he’d seen this before.

 

“Aren’t you gonna eat?” Tony asked.

 

Steve looked down at his food and then back up at Tony. He tilted his head. “We always say grace at the orphanage.”

 

Tony floundered for a moment. Grace? Before eating? Until this very moment he’d thought that was an urban legend, a myth, an old and outdated custom that only families in movies practiced.

 

“Um, well, we don’t do that here,” Tony said in lieu of asking what era Steve was from.

 

“Okay,” Steve shrugged. He started taking small, delicate bites of his food and Tony’s shoulders drooped.

 

Long and uncertain hours with this kid stretched before Tony. It was only two in the afternoon. Once they’re done eating pizza, what then? Was it appropriate to leave a preteen to his own devices in order to finish the specs of his new security system? Was bringing an eleven-year-old into his workshop reckless endangerment? Normally, under any other circumstance in which him being saddled with a kid was normal, he would dump the kid on Bruce. But Bruce, his long-suffering biology consultant, was attending a conference in Boston, and unable to be dumped upon.

 

Tony considered calling Bruce back to New York on the heels of a ‘code blue’ emergency until he remembered that Rhodey had a nephew. Rhodey was good with kids. Rhodey probably wouldn’t have the balls to refuse Tony if he should need his help at this dire hour.

 

Peeking to make sure the kid wasn’t suspicious of Tony’s uncharacteristic silence, only to find Steve had only eaten half a slice of his pizza and was now meticulously picking the cheese off the rest, Tony shuddered. He wondered for a brief hysterical moment what kind of child hated cheese, then sent Rhodey a mildly distressed text from underneath the kitchen table.

 

Me: DEAR RHODEY, MEET IN PENTHOUSE ASAP. CODE RED WHITE /AND/ BLUE. I REPEAT, ITS AN EMERGENCY.

 

Rhodey, like the sap of a best friend he was, responded in two seconds.

 

WarMachineROX: TONY?

WarMachineROX: DON’T PLAY MAN

WarMachineROX: R U SERIOUS?

WarMachineROX: TONY?!!?!

WarMachineROX: B THERE IN 15

 

Tony nearly giggled, but just then he heard a chair scraping back. He looked up to find Steve standing across from him, holding his plate.

 

“Where would you like me to throw this away, Mr. Stark?” Steve said.

 

Tony stared at him and then stood to show Steve a panel on the wall that, he explained robotically, carried all of the trash to the municipal trash bins in the basement. Steve, surprisingly curious, seemed to get excited at this explanation for all of thirty seconds, before he scrunched his features into thin lines, like he just remembered he wasn’t allowed to have fun.

 

“It’s Tony by the way,” Tony said, at a loss of what else to say.

 

He and Steve stood in the center of the kitchen. Steve was nearly a foot shorter than him and looking down at him Tony realized the kid didn’t seem to hear so good out of his left ear. When he tilted his head to the right this time the movement made sense.

 

“Ms. Hill says to be respectful to adults,” Steve said. “To call them by their last names.”

 

“Yeah, well, some adults don’t like being associated with their last names.”

 

When Steve just stared at him, he sighed, said, “Listen, kid, you can call me whatever you want, just not Stark, alright?”

 

Steve furrowed his eyebrows together and then nodded. “Okay.”

He probably would have said something else but, thankfully, Rhodey arrived. He ran through the living room, his face sweaty and severe. To be fair, Rhodey was sweaty and severe 75 percent of the time when it came to dealing with Tony. And not always in a fun way.

 

“What is it? Tony, what’s—” He came to a full stop when he noticed Steve. For a moment he stood, hands flexing at his sides, staring between Steve and Tony.

 

It was a bit bizarre seeing Steve next to Rhodey. Steve didn’t even come up to Rhodey’s chest. He was like this tiny human, so small and breakable. For what Tony knew would not be the last time, he felt a rush of relief that Rhodey was there. Tony had a bad track record with breakable things.

 

He’d broken three light bulbs this morning while trying to replace one in his kitchen, and he was basically a glorified mechanic.

 

“Tony,” Rhodey said, catching Tony’s eye. Tony saw the train of thought before Rhodey could even fully vocalize it. “Is he—?”

 

“He’s not mine, biologically,” Tony said in a rush. “It’s a trial adoption. Pepper thinks it will make me more responsible.”

 

“Ah,” Rhodey said. He stared at Steve for another moment before kneeling and looking the kid in the eye. “I’m James Rhodes, but you can call me Rhodey. What’s your name?”

 

Steve’s eyes got a little wide. He looked oddly pleased. “My best friend’s name is James.”

 

“That’s awesome. James is a good name.” Rhodey smiled.

 

“It is,” Steve said, nodding sagely.

 

He was awfully serious for such a little thing. Tony had been fully grown for nearly two decades and he wasn’t nearly as serious, about anything. Not even the stuff he enjoyed.

 

“I’m Steve Rogers,” Steve said, shaking Rhodey’s outstretched hand.

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Steve Rogers,” Rhodey said. He turned to Tony, still smiling, but the lightness behind his eyes was gone. “Tony, do you mind if we have a word? Alone.”

 

_Oh shit_ , Tony thought. _I am not getting laid tonight_.

 

+

 

“First of all,” Rhodey said, once they settled Steve at the kitchen table with a pad of paper and a box of Sharpies and sequestered themselves in Tony’s bedroom. “We need to work on your understanding of the codes, man. I thought something was really wrong.”

 

“Something _is_ really wrong,” Tony whined. “I don’t know how to take care of a kid, I can barely take care of myself.” Rhodey tried to interrupt but Tony continued. “The first meal I’ve eaten in days was a piece of pizza, an hour ago, with that kid. I only took a shower this afternoon because Pepper bullied me. And I haven’t been to the dentist in so long that I can’t tell if my teeth are throbbing because of the stress and insomnia and the not brushing them, or because they’re rotting out of my head.”

 

Tony flopped down on his bed, on his back. Rhodey settled beside him with a sigh, he resigned himself to sitting and looking down at Tony with something akin to pity. Rhodey was the only one that could get away with feeling bad for him without Tony getting defensive, because at least with Rhodey, most of the time, pity led to favors. Sexy favors.

 

“To be fair, you have been scared of the dentist since we were like, eight, man,” Rhodey said.

 

“Seven and a half.”

 

“The point is, as much as I complain about— well, a lot of shit you do. You _can_ take care of yourself. Mostly.”

 

“Great pep-talk, Rhodes. We should do this more often.”

 

“Shut up. What I’m trying to say is, Pepper’s right. This could be good for you. And you _can_ do this. He seems like a good kid.”

 

“He seems like a robot,” Tony said.

 

Rhodey hit him.

 

“I’m being serious! He’s so polite. And tiny.”

 

“Like I said, he’ll be a good influence on you,” Rhodey said.

 

Tony pouted, sticking his lower lip out and fluttering his eyes, like he used to do when he was five. It didn’t work then and it didn’t work now. Rhodey just raised an eyebrow.

 

“You’d have had better luck if your face didn’t kind of look like a Kewpie dolls.”

 

“You take that back!” Tony said, horrified.

 

Then Tony hit him and Rhodey swatted him back. It was all kind of a blur of half-assed wrestling, that remained mostly innocent. At least, until Rhodey was straddling Tony and tickling his sides. It wasn’t until that moment, when they were both panting and flushed, that Tony realized, duh, they should be making out right now.

 

He pulled Rhodey down by the back of his head. For a moment their lips slotted together and Rhodey gasped into his mouth and it was really fucking _stimulating_. But then Rhodey was pulling away and scrambling off him and saying something about there being a _kid_ in the other room, waiting for them, _jeez_.

 

Tony flopped back down against his comforter, limp and useless.

 

“Is it gonna be like this the entire time he’s here?” Tony complained.

 

“Yes,” Rhodey said, but upon seeing the look on Tony’s face, amended, “maybe?”

 

“I can work with maybe,” Tony said, leering.

 

Rhodey rolled his eyes. He was adjusting his pants, his shirt, making himself look presentable.

 

Tony stood and scratched his stomach, being tickled always left him aching to be touched. So, before Rhodey could open the door and everything had to go back to being PG, Tony put a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye.

 

“You know that nephew you have, that I’ve never met?”

 

“I have several, but if you’re referring to the one that I’ve forbidden you from ever meeting, then yes?” Rhodey said skeptically, hand on the doorknob.

 

“I think it's time you introduced us,” Tony said. “Not for me. For Steve. The slugger could use a friend while he’s here. One his own age.”

 

Rhodey stared at him, as if he believed the scheme Tony was undoubtedly plotting would show itself if he squinted hard enough. Tony ran his fingers down Rhodey’s arms, massaging his biceps through his polo.

 

“Fine,” Rhodey said on the end of a sigh. “I’ll bring him over in the morning. After my meeting.”

 

“You’re awesome,” Tony said, kissing him full on the mouth, trying not to smile too triumphantly.

 

“I know.” Rhodey said. “I really wish I wasn’t.”

 

+

 

When Rhodey left, it was just Tony and the kid. The kid sat at the kitchen table, drawing an elaborate cartoon complete with unicycles, monkeys, and robots. Tony decided that Steve could probably entertain himself for a while and was getting a glass of water when he heard the scratch of Steve’s markers come to a halt.

 

Tony looked up to see Steve staring at him over the table, his eyes appraising.

 

“Do I have something on my face?” Tony wiggled his glass in the air. “Do you want something to drink?”

 

“Is Mr. Rhodes your boyfriend?” Steve asked.

 

Tony dropped the glass. Thankfully, since it was only about three inches above the counter, it didn’t shatter. But the whole kitchen seemed to ring with the sharp smack of glass hitting granite.

 

“Um, no,” Tony said. “What in the world would give you that idea?”

 

Steve shrugged and went back to drawing. “He was worried about you. You talked in your room. When you love someone you worry about them and you want to be alone with them.”

 

“Pepper talked to me in my room,” Tony blurted.

 

Steve scrunched his nose. “I could hear Ms. Potts yelling at you from out here. And besides, she’s in love with someone else.”

 

Tony gaped at the kid. “And how do you know that? You’re eleven.”

 

“Eleven and a half,” Steve said, sticking his bottom lip out. “And I’m in love too.”

 

Tony put his empty non-shattered glass in the sink and sat at the kitchen table, across from the kid. Even upside-down Tony could see that Steve was a pretty talented artist. He could safely say that the next time he needed someone to render robots attacking a zoo that was filled with unicycle riding primates, Steve would be the one he called. He only got about ten seconds to really look at the picture, though, before Steve caught on and covered it with his arms.

 

Tony was about to protest but he looked up and Steve was glaring at him. It wasn’t at all intimidating. In fact it was pretty fucking adorable. Tony almost laughed, but, deciding not to bruise the kid’s ego, he moved on to more pressing subjects.

 

“You’re in love?” Tony asked.

 

“I am,” Steve nodded. He flipped his picture over so he could sit back in his chair, cross his arms, and attempt to look mulish. The effect of which was that he looked less like a mule and more like a disgruntled kitten.

 

Tony had a brief moment to wonder if this was why people took so many pictures of their kids. Just to remind themselves in coming years, when the kids grow to become stubborn, irascible, asshats, that their progeny was once lovable and pocket-sized.

 

Tony shook his head. “So. What’s being in love like for you?”

 

Steve relaxed in his chair. He got that oddly pleased expression on his face again. “It’s nice. It’s like being warm all over, all the time. The only thing is, I don’t know if he likes me back.”

 

“I see,” Tony said. He didn’t.

 

The thing was, Tony Stark was, for lack of a better phrase, emotionally constipated. He’d been having sex with his best friend since college, so, nearly 13 years, longer than Steve Rogers had been alive. But he had never, in all of those 13 years, had the courage to ask Rhodey if he wanted an actual relationship.

 

_Rhodey_ had asked _him_ , twice. And Tony had said no, twice. And then they didn’t speak for a significant amount of time, twice. Until Pepper, both times, basically locked them in a room and made them make up.

 

Tony Stark was a coward. Because all he actually wanted was an exclusive romantic relationship with his best friend. But due to his deep self-worth issues that he should probably further examine in a safe and healthy environment, like therapy, he didn’t believe he deserved Rhodey. Or a relationship. Or to be happy, really.

 

So here he was, sitting in front of an eleven year old. Who, in the short time he’d been cognizant of the idea of love, had found another person and decided that he loved them. While Tony was a 35 year old man who could barely admit he loved to listen to Céline Dion in the shower, let alone love his best friend.

 

This might be why, when Steve looked up at him imploringly. Those big blue eyes, all big and blue and watching him with hope, like he might impart some magical solution to all love’s woes, Tony Stark did the only thing he could think to do.

 

He said, “Tell me everything.”  

 

**CHAPTER 2:**

 

For as far back as Steve Rogers could remember his life had consisted of three immovable constants: the four story brownstone where the Municipal Boys Orphanage was located, his best friend at his side, and the three blocks of Brooklyn where he was allowed to wander after school and before curfew. He hadn’t been away from any of these things for this long in almost his entire life, and he hadn’t even been gone a day.

 

He missed his shared room at the orphanage with its dozen tiny twin-sized bunk beds and the sounds of his friends snoring and snuffling in their sleep, even as he was laying in his very own gigantic bed in his very own gigantic room in the gigantic tower in Manhattan that he’d been brought to that very afternoon. He missed his scratchy sheets and his Gameboy and, with a pain that startled Steve’s chest so much he could barely humor the idea of sleep, he missed Bucky.

 

It wasn’t that late and before Steve could really think about it he slipped out of bed and down the hall. Mr. Stark, Tony, had showed Steve ‘Steve’s’ room and ‘Steve’s’ bed and told him he’d be working in the workshop for most of the night if Steve needed anything.

 

Steve needed Bucky. He hadn’t cried since he was little. He could barely remember what it felt like, but Steve thought he could remember the way his nose got stuffy and his eyes got red and wet and how his whole head hurt with the shrill ache that preceded tears. He was on the verge of remembering only because he was also on the verge of actually crying. All because of the needling thought that he couldn’t remember the last thing Bucky said to him.

 

It had all been kind of a blur. That morning, Ms. Potts had shown up and Ms. Hill had smiled at her and Steve had been ushered into The Office and then his things were being collected, but not all of them, and he was leaving so much behind, and Bucky was staring at him, blue eyes wide and uncomprehending as Steve was hurried into the back of a long car.

 

Steve found Tony working in his workshop just like he said he would be. He was leaning so he was practically inside a car, his head under the hood, his back muscles bunching with the effort of fixing whatever it was he was fixing.

 

“Mr. Stark?” Steve said.

 

Tony jerked up, hitting his head on the hood, dropping whatever it was he’d been holding with the loud clang of something that was probably now, if it hadn’t been before, broken.

 

“Tony,” Tony said. “I told you to call me Tony.”

 

His face was dirty and flushed and sweat dripped from the tips of his hair like he’d just dumped water over his head.

 

“Tony,” Steve tried. “Can I use your phone?”

 

“What?” Tony said, looking entirely bewildered. He grabbed a can of Coke from what appeared to be a workbench but carried a diverse collection of objects, half of which didn’t appear to fix things. “Why?”

 

“I can’t sleep. I want to talk to Bucky before I go to bed.” Steve admitted. It was a little embarrassing, admitting he needed Bucky’s voice, but he did, and the thought of having it was more settling than anything else.

 

“Who the hell is Binky?” Tony said, wrinkling his nose.

 

“Bucky,” Steve said, glowering. “My best friend. James Buchanan Barnes. The one I’m in love with.”

 

“Oh,” Tony said, like they hadn’t spent three hours just that afternoon dissecting Steve’s love life. “Oh, yeah, do you know his number? Here.”

 

He placed a cellphone in Steve’s hands. It was flat and see-through and resembled a square of glass more than it resembled a phone.

 

Steve said, “Um...”

 

“Oh, right,” Tony said, reaching over to tap the glass. It flared to life, its screen incandescent and simultaneously see-through, but the icons that appeared after Tony touched it looked like the familiar iPhone buttons that Steve had seen on TV. He pressed the one shaped like a phone, typed in the orphanage’s number, and put the glass delicately up to his ear.

 

“Municipal Boys Orphanage, Brooklyn, Division 12. May I ask who’s calling?” Ms. Hill’s voice sounded tired and flat and it almost brought actual tears to Steve’s eyes.

 

“Ms. Hill,” Steve said, hiccupping.

 

“Steve? Sweetie what’s the matter?” Ms. Hill said, all civility dropped from her voice and replaced with warm concern. “Are you with Mr. Stark? Are you safe?”

 

“I’m fine,” Steve said. “Mr. Stark is here. I—” he hiccuped, “miss Bucky.”

 

Ms. Hill tutted through the phone. Steve could practically see her shaking her head and smiling down at him.

 

“You boys, what am I going to do with you? I only just settled Bucky half an hour ago. He’s been crying all day.”

 

“He has?” Steve asked, something welling inside of him that thankfully wasn’t tears. He felt less embarrassed by the ones collecting in the corners of his eyes, less bothered by Tony fussing around him and asking if he needed baby wipes, and an infinitesimal bit less homesick to know that Bucky didn’t feel at home without him. He didn’t know what that said about his character, but he was eleven, technically still a kid even if he didn’t feel like it, and he was confident he was allowed to be selfish. Ms. Hill had told him so after his parents died.

 

“Let me get him for you,” she said.

 

Steve spent the few moments it took for Ms. Hill to fetch Bucky telling Tony that he was fine and to go away. Tony grumbled something about tetchy brats and stomped to the other side of his workshop, where he started to tinker with something that looked dangerous, but then Steve heard Bucky approaching and was immediately distracted.

 

Bucky was running for the phone and then picking it up ungraciously, if the stomping and clattering could be translated to the picture of Bucky Steve had in his head.

 

“Stevie?” Bucky said, his voice sounded tired and wet and Steve felt an immediate flood of relief that almost brought more tears.

 

“Bucky,” Steve said. He flopped to the ground and leaned against Tony’s car, pressing the phone closer to his ear. “I missed you.”

 

“I miss you too, pal,” Bucky said. “Earlier I didn’t— I didn’t think you were getting adopted. I meant to say goodbye.”

 

“It’s not goodbye, stupid,” Steve said, sniffling. “I’ll be back, in like, a week.”

 

“A week,” Bucky repeated, solemnly.

 

“A week isn’t that long,” Steve reassured him. “I’ll call you every night.”

 

After a pause that stretched thin on the line, Bucky gave him a reluctant, “Okay,” and then immediately jumped in to say, “So today at school, Bernie—”

 

Steve listened to him talk about how a mean kid named Zola had pulled Bernie’s pigtails on the playground and how Dum Dum and Gabe had helped Bernie melt the kids shoes with the microwave in the Teacher’s Lounge.

 

“Did you help?” Steve said. Normally, Bucky was, if not the brains of a scheme, a conspirator. He was really good with a slingshot. Last year he’d nailed Arnim Zola with 57 rocks to the back of the head. Steve had counted.

 

“No,” Bucky said, sounding forlorn. “Don’t laugh, pal, but I was too worried to be much help.”

 

“Worried about me?” Steve asked, sounding surprised to his own ears.

 

“Of course, you moron. If I got put in a big black limo and taken away without a word you would’ve been worried too.”

 

“I would have,” Steve admitted. “Bucky?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I miss you.”

 

“I know, I miss you too.”

 

“Bucky?”

 

“Yeah, Steve?”

 

Steve sighed. “I don’t know.”

 

“Me neither.” Bucky sighed in return.

 

Steve could hear him sniffling in the silence that stretched between them. He closed his eyes and listened to Bucky breathe.

 

Steve had always loved Bucky. From the moment they met. He hadn’t known it was love at first, but after a few movie nights at the orphanage and books swiped from Ms. Hill’s office he was fairly sure that the flutter he felt in his chest whenever Bucky held his hand or smiled at him was the same kind of flutter that made that poor DiCaprio guy decide to drown to save the pretty lady in that movie about the cruise ship.

 

When he told Tony this, Tony had laughed. In fact, he hadn’t stopped laughing for what felt like ages. But after he wiped the tears away and calmed down enough to look Steve in the eye, he’d asked questions.

 

According to Tony’s assessment, it seemed that Steve really did have all the symptoms of being in love. He blushed and stumbled and stuttered around Bucky but he felt like crap whenever his friend wasn’t around. He always saved a seat for Bucky right next to him wherever they were, the kitchen, the bus, at school. They slept in the same bed when Bucky had nightmares and Steve stared at Bucky’s face sometimes when he was dropping off to sleep, watching the way his eyelashes brushed his cheeks. He always put Bucky first, even though he really cared about all his friends, if Bucky needed something Bucky got it. And the one time Bucky had gotten really sick Steve had stayed with him in the nurse’s office and read issues of Nancy Drew to him until he fell asleep, and then sometimes, he pressed his ear to Bucky’s chest to double-check he was still breathing.

 

“Yup,” Tony had said. “That sounds like love to me, kid.”

 

And that was great, and everything. Steve was glad he finally had someone to talk to about his feelings, even if that someone was Tony, who seemed pretty helpless when it concerned these kinds of things for himself. But he didn’t know how to approach Bucky about it.

 

Him and Bucky, they’d never ever kept a secret from each other. Ever. Bucky told Steve when he’d broken his Super Smash Brothers game last year and Steve felt like he owed it to his friend, for being so honest to him, to be equally honest in return. But Steve wasn’t sure if Bucky even liked boys, and there weren’t any movies Steve had seen where two boys got together and lived happily ever after. And he’d seen a lot of movies.

 

Tony though, Tony was a boy in love with a boy. Which was just about the only the reason he _thought_ he’d hit the jackpot when it came to a foster parent. But Tony couldn’t put his feelings into words any better than Steve could.

 

And he was so _old_.

 

So here Steve was. On the phone with the boy he loved. And he felt a little helpless and a little lonely, even though he could hear Bucky’s congested breathing echoing across the static between them.

 

“Steve, I have something to tell you,” Bucky said.

 

Steve perked up. Bucky sounded hesitant. Bucky never sounded hesitant.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Today I—”

 

There was a commotion in the background and Bucky’s voice cut off, only to return fuzzy and distorted as if he had shoved the phone against his shirt.

 

“Five more minutes,” Steve made out Bucky pleading. “ _Please_.”

 

There was some more jostling and then Bucky was saying, “Goodnight Stevie, _Ms. Hill_ is making me go to bed. Goodnight, I’ll call you tomorrow morning—”

 

And then the phone was transferred to Ms. Hill before Steve could even say ‘Goodnight’ back, and before he knew it Steve was all on his own, crouched on the floor of Tony’s workshop, while Tony exploded something in the far corner in a plume of blue smoke.

 

He knew he would not be getting to sleep any time soon.

 

**CHAPTER 3:**

 

James Rhodes had been in love with Tony Stark his entire life. He didn’t know why.

 

For instance, just this afternoon Tony had nearly given him a heart attack calling a red, white, _and_ blue emergency while Rhodey was at work. And then it turned out the ‘emergency’ was that there was a child in Tony’s apartment. For a second Rhodey had thought that one of Tony’s numerous exes had left the kid on Tony’s doorstep, which might’ve warranted using the codes. But no. It turned out Tony had unwittingly signed himself up to be a parent for the next seven days.

 

And for some reason Tony thought Rhodey should leave work at the _Department of Defense_ to commiserate with him on his new parental status, and then have sex while the kid was in the other room. Sometimes Rhodey wasn’t entirely convinced Tony was a real person.

 

And yet, somehow, for some unexplainable reason, despite his narcissism and subsequent self-loathing and questionable hygiene, Rhodey still loved Tony. There was something to be said about growing up with a person. Fondness based on proximity and all that. Because from all their years together Rhodey knew Tony better than he knew himself and he’d loved Tony before he knew what love really was. So he ended up choosing him again and again, even though he had a cushy job at the Department of Defense and benefits and friends. Even though sometimes he went out drinking and ended up in someone else’s bed, he always went back home to Tony.

 

As a result, despite everything, Rhodey always found himself answering the phone at odd hours of the morning, even knowing he wouldn’t be getting anymore sleep that night. Like tonight, for example. He was drawn sharply from a nightmare he was glad he hadn’t gotten a chance to finish and woke in his apartment, shirtless, staring at the ceiling. He was breathing hard. He gave himself a minute to calm down, looked at the clock, it was past one in the morning, and then he pressed his phone to his ear.

 

It was Pepper.

 

“Have you seen Tony?” She asked. She definitely knew he hadn’t.

 

“Not since I left the tower,” Rhodey said, sitting up in bed. He pushed his covers away and fumbled for his contact lenses in the dark.

 

“He’s gone, he took Steve with him. The security team lost their cab just outside Times Square and he took the GPS tracker out of his phone again.” Pepper paused. “If the press catches him at some club with a kid— I hate to not be thinking of Steve’s safety right now, but the big thing at stake is that the board could take the company from Tony.”

 

“Did he pick up when you called him?” Rhodey asked. He was already pulling his pants on, running a hand through his nonexistent hair, fumbling for his wallet.

 

“No, that’s why I called you,” Pepper said.

 

“I’ll try him,” Rhodey said. “I’ll find them, Pepper. I’ll call you after I talk to him.”

 

He hung up and called Tony. Normally, when this happened, it was only Tony on the line. Not a kid, not an entire company. Pepper called Rhodey only when it was five or six in the morning and they still couldn’t find Tony. Pepper called Rhodey only when they were worried Tony had well and truly disappeared. Which, granted, used to be two or three times a week.

 

In his old age, Tony only pulled the disappearing act once every few months. When he was stressed. Rhodey didn’t have to wonder why he was stressed tonight. He had no idea why Tony had dragged the kid along, though. He tried not to worry. Tony wasn’t the greatest with kids but surely he wouldn’t bring Steve to a strip club, or worse, lose the kid in the middle of the night in Manhattan.

 

On second thought, Rhodey took two stairs at a time.

 

He called Tony as he was hailing a cab.

 

The phone rang once, twice, and then Tony answered.

 

“Heeey, Rhodey. What’s the occasion?” Tony said.

 

Rhodey would never admit it, but he was very glad to hear Tony’s voice. And even gladder to hear that Tony seemed sober.

 

“Where are you?” Rhodey said, a cab screeched to a halt in front of him as if sensing his urgency.

 

“Central Park,” Tony said.

 

“Central Park,” Rhodey repeated to the cab driver. “Where in Central Park? And why?”

 

“You know that lake your mom used to take us to? With the gazebo?”

 

“Sorry,” Rhodey said to catch the cab driver’s attention. “The Harlem Meer? At the end of 106th. Thank you.”

 

Finished with directions, Rhodey leaned back against his seat. He wasn’t sure what else to say to Tony. He had a lot of questions but now that the immediate ones were out of the way he wasn’t sure what should come first and what should wait for when he was there.

 

“Is Steve okay?” Rhodey asked, hesitantly.

 

“Of course he is, what do you take me for?”

 

Rhodey sighed.

 

“I’ll be right there. Don’t leave,” he said. Then he hung up and called Pepper.

 

**CHAPTER 4:**

 

Years later, Tony still wouldn’t know what possessed him to take Steve to Central Park that night. There were several factors:

 

  1. Steve seemed sad.
  2. Tony had insomnia and anxiety and he didn’t know which he’d had first.
  3. Steve wasn’t sleeping.
  4. Neither was Tony.
  5. They were both in his workshop in the middle of the night in the city that, funnily enough, also couldn’t sleep.
  6. Tony remembered he had prototype remote control speedboats.   




So Tony packed the speedboats and the remotes into a duffel bag, took his wallet and his phone and Steve. And went to Central Park just after midnight.

 

There was this one lake where Mrs. Rhodes used to take him and Rhodey in the summer when they were younger. They’d kayak and look for fish. Mrs. Rhodes would pack sandwiches and they’d eat them on the gazebo while listening to summer sounds: kids playing tag and fighting over hot dogs and slapping each other with water balloons. This was a place Tony came when he wanted to relax, when he wanted to remember summer. It was odd to be there on a chilly drizzly night.

 

He set the boats in the water. There were two of them. Iron Hull and War Machine. He had designed them months ago and by now forgotten why he’d built them in the first place. He handed War Machine’s remote to Steve and for awhile they sat in silence, maneuvering their boats over the water. No doubt interrupting the dreams of the fish.

 

After awhile Tony told Steve about Rhodey. He told him how when they were kids, growing up side by side because their parents worked together, Rhodey had been his best friend. The only one who stayed and was patient with him after his parents died. How when Rhodey had decided to pick the same college as Tony, Tony had been so happy he’d cried. He told him about when Rhodey left college and joined the army, how when Rhodey had been on his first tour Tony hadn’t slept for six months. He told Steve everything, except for the NC-17 rated bits, those he kept to himself.

 

Steve just sat and nodded and sagely replied, “Just like Bucky,” once or twice.

 

When Tony was done the silence sat a little heavier than before.

 

“So why aren’t you dating?” Steve said, after a bit. War Machine seemed to have gotten tired of sprinting back and forth across the lake, it was now driving in tight circles, sending choppy waves toward the shore.

 

“I just told you,” Tony said. “I just described how great friends we are didn’t I? And Rhodey is great. He deserves someone much more— more than me.”

 

Steve scrunched his nose. “It sounds like Mr. Rhodes doesn’t want much more _more_ than you. It sounds like he wants you. And you want him.”

 

Steve ran War Machine up on the shore. He was shivering and damp from the drizzle.

 

Tony felt bad for dragging him out without a coat. It was not even his second day as a parent and already he’d gotten Steve sick. He pulled his flannel off and wrapped it around Steve’s shoulders. It was laughably big on him.

 

And then Tony noticed his phone was ringing.

 

+

 

By the time Rhodey got there Steve was more than a little damp. Tony should have told Rhodey not to bother coming, that he’d take Steve home in a cab, but he hadn’t known how to explain to Rhodey that he wasn’t at a club or a bar or any of his usual haunts. He was at a lake with Steve and they were talking about his love life. Rhodey would have laughed at them both.

 

He knew exactly what Rhodey had been thinking on the way over. Probably that Tony was drunk and had dragged a small child to Central Park at one in the morning to do weird science. Which, technically, if you counted drunk on love, drunk, and weird science two experimental speedboats with optional missile features that Tony hadn’t shown Steve, because he’s responsible, then Rhodey’s assumptions weren’t wrong.

 

Rhodey took one look at Steve and wrapped him up in his leather jacket. Then he plucked the duffel with the speedboats from Tony’s shoulder and led them back to where he had a cab waiting. The rain almost gave them an excuse not to talk. There was no awkward silence because the drizzle was drumming every surface around them, making the walk noisy and wet. Following the weathers lead, Tony did not talk to Rhodey on the walk to the cab. Or in the cab, where the very patient cab driver was listening to Indie Rock. Or in the elevator back up to Tony’s penthouse, mostly because by then Steve was dozing off and Tony was too busy trying to figure out how to balance a small child in his arms to worry about starting a conversation.

 

It wasn’t until after they’d dried Steve off and got him in fresh clothes and sent him to bed, that Tony felt the need to talk at all. And that was only because Rhodey was standing across from him, with his arms crossed.

 

He didn’t look mad. He didn’t look much of anything but tired. Tony really, really wanted to kiss him.

 

Just smack one on him and forget about talking.

 

Rhodey sighed. “I’m not mad. I’m not disappointed. I don’t know why you were at the lake with Steve in the middle of the night without even some damn pepper spray. You could have been mugged. Steve could have caught a cold, he still could. But I won’t know why you did any of it unless you talk to me. So talk.”

 

“We couldn’t sleep,” Tony said, sitting on the edge of his bed. “I don’t know. It seemed like the best idea. I didn’t— It wasn’t a club.”

 

“I know,” Rhodey said. He sat beside him.

 

“Do you want to have sex?” Tony asked.

 

“Yes, but, like, can we talk about stuff first?” Rhodey asked.

 

“What is there to talk about? I fucked up. Tony made a bad choice, must be Tuesday.”

 

“I make bad choices too, Tony. I make bad choices several times a day. I made a bad choice a moment ago when I agreed to have sex with you,” Rhodey said. “But I’m dealing with my shit. I’m sorting through my problems in healthy ways. Are you?”

 

Tony winced. He’d deserved that. And he knew they needed to talk about this. They especially needed to flesh out what they felt for each other before they complicated things even further. Except right now he was cold and wet and horny and he still didn’t feel like sleeping.

 

He pushed Rhodey back against the mattress and let Rhodey make one more bad choice.

 

**CHAPTER 5:**

 

At the orphanage, whenever Steve was sick, Ms. Hill would put him in quarantine in the nurse's office and Bucky would camp beside him for days. They would play with the orphanage’s gameboy, or draw, or sometimes Bucky would hide in the room and Steve would try to guess where he was from bed.

 

Sometimes Steve was really sick. Those times, Bucky was not allowed in the nurse’s office. Those times, Ms. Hill always threatened to take Steve to a hospital, but so far she hadn’t had to. And she never stopped Bucky from sneaking in after dinner and curling against Steve’s side. Even though Steve was fairly sure she’d had plenty of opportunity to stop him.

 

It wasn’t until Steve was sick at Stark Tower, that he realized how dreadful the entire experience was. He and Bucky had always treated it like a game, Ms. Hill treated it like an annoyance, Tony Stark treated it like the end of the world.

 

“I think he’s dying,” Tony said for the dozenth time. He hadn’t taken his hand off Steve’s forehead since he’d entered the room fifteen minutes ago.

 

Steve was fairly positive Tony didn’t own a thermometer. Steve was also fairly positive Tony was on the phone, not muttering about Steve’s imminent death to himself, but Steve was too tired to open his eyes and confirm this. And, actually, Tony’s cold hand felt great on his overheated skin.

 

“I don’t know, Rhodey. Maybe just a cold? He’s red and sweaty. Of course I don’t own a thermometer.” Tony paused. “Of _course_ I called Pepper, I’m not an animal.”

 

Steve knew it was just a cold. He’d been sick enough as a kid to know what being on the verge of death felt like. This felt like a chill, like he’d shiver and ache for twelve hours and be fine in the morning. He was too tired to explain this to Tony, though. He figured that as a genius and an adult, Tony probably should have known these things on his own. Steve was mildly assured that Ms. Potts was on her way and Tony wasn’t about to do anything permanently damaging, so he allowed himself to drift to sleep again.

 

Right before he was pulled under he heard Tony say, “And that Binky kid has called, like, five times. What’s up with that?”

 

+

 

Steve dreamt of Bucky.  They were standing on platforms about a hundred feet apart from each other, separated by smoke and ash and fire. Bucky was yelling his name. Bucky was trying to get to him. Bucky was falling.

 

And then Steve screamed himself back to the beginning of the dream.

 

Bucky was yelling his name across the wreckage. Bucky was reaching for him. Bucky was falling.

 

Again and again, Bucky was falling.

 

No matter how many times Steve screamed himself awake, he always went right back to the beginning.

 

+

 

When Steve finally woke up for real, he was still in his bed at Stark Tower. There was a cool wet cloth on his forehead, one glass of water and one glass of gingerale on the nightstand, and Ms. Potts hovering by the end of the bed.

 

Her face was pinched with concern. She made Steve take some medicine and then took his temperature while she stacked some saltines on a plate. She frowned at the thermometer a bit and then pushed the saltines toward him and told him to drink all of the water and go back to sleep.

 

Steve was glad she was here and not just Tony. Occasionally it baffled Steve that Tony had lived on his own so long without reducing his building to a pile of vaporized ash, but then he remembered that Tony had Ms. Potts and Mr. Rhodes. Tony was very lucky.

 

“Feel better, Steve,” Ms. Potts said, pushing Steve’s damp bangs from his forehead.

 

Steve murmured that he would and rolled onto his side. He’d forgotten about the nightmare until it started again.

 

+

 

When Steve woke up a third time it was getting dark out. Tony was talking in the hall with Ms. Potts.

 

“How was I supposed to know there was a paparazzo in the woods in the middle of the night?” Tony was saying.

 

“You wouldn’t. That’s not the point. The point is you shouldn’t have been in the middle of the woods with a kid at one in the morning in the first place,” Ms. Potts said. Her voice was low, but it was a tone that Steve imagined scared Tony on a visceral level. “Do you want to lose your company? Do you want me to lose my job? Because the board seems to think so.”

 

“It’s all just speculation,” Tony said. “No one knows Steve. No one knows who he is.”

 

“Exactly,” Ms. Potts said. “That’s why the headline is: TONY STARK SPOTTED AT MIDNIGHT IN CENTRAL PARK WITH UNKNOWN CHILD. Does that not seem like bad press to you?”

 

Tony was quiet for a moment. Despite the conversation, the momentary silence almost had Steve halfway to sleep again. When Tony did answer his voice was a whisper Steve barely heard through the door.

 

“What do you want me to do?” He said.

 

“I’m already taking care of it,” Ms. Potts said. “Don’t do anything, that’s what I want you to do. Don’t even look out the window funny.”

 

Steve could hear her heels clicking on the floor, her voice growing more distant as she walked away.

 

“Sometimes you make me wonder why I like this job so much, Tony.” Ms. Potts called.

 

“It pays well.” Tony offered.

 

+

 

Steve missed Bucky. He missed his weight and warmth against Steve’s side when he was sick. There was almost nothing good about being sick. Except Bucky’s undivided attention and sometimes the ice cream.

 

In Stark Tower there was no Bucky. And Tony seemed to have taken Ms. Pott’s ‘do nothing’ advice to heart. He wouldn’t feed Steve anything other than what Ms. Potts had left out. Currently, Steve was eating a banana. It was eleven o’clock at night and it was the first time he’d been really awake all day.

 

Tony was in the corner of the room, alternately texting Mr. Rhodes and playing Tetris.

 

“Are you in trouble, because of last night?” Steve asked.

 

Tony’s head popped up. He looked like he hadn’t even tried to look like a human today. His hair was everywhere, his face was flushed and patchy with stubble. Steve had seen Tony on the cover of a magazine once. He’d had a pretty lady in his lap. And while the lady had been prettier than Tony was even when he’d been trim and clean for the cover photo, the Tony from the magazine seemed like a completely different person than the Tony Stark Steve had gotten to know since he’d arrived here.

 

The Tony Stark on the magazine had looked like the world’s most coordinated man. Like he could build amazing things and run a huge company and date lots of people and have everything in his life in perfect order while he did it. This Tony Stark was like a machine whose only function was to build things. Everyone else around him was there to make sure he stayed clean and healthy and alive while he single-mindedly did that one thing.

 

Steve found that he preferred the imperfect Tony Stark to the one on the magazine cover. The one in front of him seemed like someone Steve could relate to, or at least talk to. Steve would have felt too out of place, too different from magazine Tony Stark, to ever consider telling him anything. Besides, the real Tony Stark wasn’t that bad.

 

For instance, he was frowning now as if contemplating telling Steve a soft lie. But then he sighed and told Steve the truth.

 

“A little, kid. I’m too handsome for my own good. Those photographers are always following me around. And one of them got a couple pictures of us in the park.” Tony relayed all of this without lying, but like it wasn’t a problem. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. His phone fell to the floor and he scrambled to pick it up.

 

“The phone,” Steve said, suddenly remembering earlier in the day. He’d been fuzzy and half-asleep but he was sure Tony had said Bucky had called. Bucky had called a few times.

 

Steve borrowed Tony’s cellphone to call the orphanage. He knew it was late, he knew he’d be waking Bucky up, but they hadn’t gone a full day without hearing each other’s voices in a long time, and surely Ms. Hill would pick up even if to tell him to call back tomorrow.

 

He waited for her to pick up. He waited and waited. He called the number three times in a row but the phone rang endlessly and no one at the orphanage answered.

 

**CHAPTER 6:**

 

The problem with being in an open, mostly steady-lay type of relationship with your best friend, was that said best friend tended to use sex as an incentive for Tony to do obscenely excruciating things. Like take Steve to a Mets game.

 

Steve had this Brooklyn Dodgers hat, see. When Steve walked into Tony’s kitchen the morning after getting over his cold, with the threadbare offending article on his head, Tony had gasped.

 

“Dear god, where did you get that hat?” Tony had said, dropping his breakfast burrito. “Give it to me, I’ll burn it for you.”

 

Steve had proceeded, at a speed that still impressed Tony to this very moment in time, to reel back, leap over the couch, and lock himself in his room. He hadn’t come out for an hour and a half, not for eggs and bacon, not for front row seats to a Broadway show, not to see Tony prancing around the living room in a tutu whose origins he still wasn’t entirely positive about. Tony had even tried monetary bribery with the kid, but Steve was not easily bought.

 

When Pepper arrived at 9:30, a stack of paperwork in her hands, and found Tony, in said tutu, trying to slide a blank check under Steve’s door—well, she hadn’t exactly been happy.

 

So Pepper had reassured Steve he could keep his Dodgers hat. And Tony had to suffer through the humiliation of eating lunch with a tiny Brooklyn Dodgers fan. And after Rhodey had caught wind of what happened, from Pepper, the _traitor_ , he picked up four Mets tickets from one of his many relatives and guilted Tony into meeting him at Citi Field, with Steve, that very night. And when the guilting hadn’t worked, Rhodey had promised him hot, filthy, workshop sex, and so here Tony was, at a Mets game, wearing a Yankees hat, hating himself.

 

At least the kid seemed to be having fun. Rhodey had brought along the nephew Tony had been previously sworn to never meet and he and Steve were currently bonding over a colorful gaming device that Tony was pretty sure his own technology had rendered obsolete, like, five years ago. But whatever. If Steve wanted to like the Mets and the Dodgers and play games that weren’t made by Stark Industries, then fine, he could do whatever he wanted.

 

Tony shoved his entire corn dog into his mouth and tried to imagine himself doing more pleasant things. Like lighting his hair on fire.

 

When Rhodey returned with foam fingers for the kids and beer for Tony, Tony thought, _Yes, this is my chance to slip into an alcohol induced coma and not have to be awake for another second of this shit_.

 

Unfortunately, Tony got exactly one sip into his beer before Steve was turning to him with his foam finger covering his entire forearm, his eyes wide and glitter-y even though they were shadowed by his hat.

 

“Mr. Stark,” he said. “Thank you for taking me. This is _amazing_.”

 

Tony, somehow, did not choke on his beer. He put his cup in one of the miniscule cup holders they had at Citi Field, the ones at Yankees Stadium were bigger, thank you, and he cleared his throat and said, “No problem, short stuff.”

 

Three seats away, separated from him by Steve and The Nephew, Rhodey watched him and smiled this big, stupid, _fond_ smile. It was like, Tony wouldn’t say he’d take a bullet for Rhodey, because with Rhodey’s profession that would seem kind of redundant. Rhodey had taken plenty of bullets on his own. But Tony could now officially say he’d see a Mets game for Rhodey. And in Tony’s book, that was pretty much the same thing.

 

By the end of the game, Tony hated the Mets even more, if that was entirely possible to begin with. They’d been losing the entire friggin game. The _entire_ time the score had been 1-0. There had been so many foul balls that Tony had paid Rhodey to buy Steve and The Nephew mitts just so they could run around the stands with the other kids and try to catch _something_ instead of watching what a disgrace *their home team was making of themselves.

 

(Tony would also like the record to state that *their was in reference to Steve and The Nephew, not himself.)

 

But then the ninth inning had literally swung around and the score had turned 1-1 while Tony was cracking the secret to a perpetual motion machine on his cellphone. And when he looked up they were clearing the field for the _tenth_ inning, and Tony would honestly rather have each and every one of his fingernails ripped out than stay in this disgrace of a ballfield any longer.

 

But, like, this amazing thing happened, because when Tony looked up to the tenth inning, already well underway while he was busy banging his head on the low wall in front of him, he was looking up to Steve, smiling and staring out over the field and shaking his shoulder like Tony couldn’t see what was going on right in front of him.

 

“They’re gonna win, oh my god,” Steve was saying. “Mr. Stark, _Tony_ , they’re gonna win. Bucky is gonna lose it.”

 

It was then that Tony realized that it was bottom of the tenth, bases loaded, there was a guy up to hit who seemed to know what he was doing. The Mets might actually win this. And as much as the thought filled Tony with a horrible gut-churning fury, like he might puke in anger or something, it seemed to be doing the opposite for Steve Rogers.

 

Steve was excited, flushed, gripping Tony’s arm with the hand that was still wearing his new mitt, and waving his foam finger on his other hand like the small gust he was creating might carry the batter’s ball into the outfield. And Tony was many things (petty, selfish, whiny, a diehard Yankees fan) but he was actually really happy to see that Steve was enjoying himself.

 

He’d spent all of yesterday sick, because of Tony. And then spent all of last night upset that he couldn’t get through to the orphanage. And while Ms. Hill had called Tony this morning and assured him that everything was fine, Tony could still see that Steve was shaken. It couldn’t be easy for the kid to be living with Tony, especially when that meant being separated from all the people he cared about.

 

Tony shook off the dregs of concern by taking a very big gulp of his beer. By the time he was done drinking what was left of his cup and Rhodey’s and a cup belonging to a very enthusiastic woman who was seated on his right and kept petting his arm while he chugged her Miller Lite, Tony was ready to leave, and Hallelujah, the Mets were too. They won, but Tony was willing to let little victories slide when it meant he got to prance out of the ballpark, get in his shiny car, and go _home_ already.

 

But first, he made a pitstop at one of the heinously overpriced Citi Field gift shops on the way out and bought Steve and The Nephew one of just about everything. Or, rather, he made Rhodey buy them one of everything with Tony’s company card while Tony stood outside and tried to hide himself behind a pillar. This was why, thirty minutes after Tony should have been halfway across New York, he suffered the embarrassment of a starry-eyed Steve Rogers, wearing a Mets jersey, Mets hat, Mets sneakers, and holding a Mets bag, offering a Mets pin to Tony with the shiest of grins on his face.

 

“What is that thing?” Tony asked, cowering.

 

“Ms. Hill gives us an allowance,” Steve said, grabbing the edge of Tony’s jacket as he tried to shuffle away, “so I got this for you.”

 

Tony was so floored that for a moment he forgot himself. He didn’t try to escape while Steve was pinning the Mets symbol to his very expensive Bottega Veneta leather jacket. Instead he let it happen and then squeaked a, “Thanks,” before Rhodey swooped in to rescue him with The Nephew in tow, and all four of them headed out to have a rousing dinner of hot dogs and pizza.

 

It was only later that night, after Rhodey had frickle-frackled him into another dimension of bliss, sweaty and limp and out-of-breath, on top of Rhodey, on top of the hood of the Impala, that Tony realized he’d never taken the Mets pin off his jacket. He figured that the hole had probably ruined the leather anyway, so he guessed it could stay.

 

**CHAPTER 7:**

 

Mr. Rhodes’ nephew, Sam, was one of the coolest kids Steve had ever met. He knew everything about the Mets. Maybe not as much as Bucky, but pretty darn close. After the game Steve and Sam spent the rest of the night in Mr. Stark’s living room, playing video games Steve hadn’t even known existed, on a TV as big as the dining table at the orphanage.

 

Steve was still antsy with leftover energy when Mr. Rhodes appeared behind them and announced it was time to take Sam home. He pouted and asked Sam if he would visit again soon. Mr. Rhodes answered for him, said of course he would, and then hefted Sam onto his shoulders. They both waved goodbye as they headed for the elevator, Sam sagging against his uncle as exhaustion visibly washed over him.

 

Steve, left alone on the couch, was not exhausted. He wasn’t tired in the slightest, and it was only nine. He figured he still had time to call Bucky before Ms. Hill chided them both to go to bed. He had been nervous last night when no one at the orphanage answered, but Tony had assured him that morning that Ms. Hill had called him and everything was fine. Despite the assurance, though, Steve still wouldn’t feel right until he could hear Bucky’s voice.

 

There was a little phone on the end table that Ms. Potts had pointed out to him earlier, for emergencies, in the wake of what had happened this morning with Mr. Stark’s irrational urge to destroy Steve’s mom’s Dodgers hat. (To be fair, Steve didn’t think Mr. Stark knew that the hat was one of the only things Steve had left from his mother. Even so, damaging other people’s things wasn’t very nice.)

 

He dialed the orphanage’s number from heart and contemplated what he was going to tell Bucky when he got him on the line. The Mets game first, definitely, then maybe the jersey he’d bought for him in the gift shop. But maybe he’d keep that a surprise for when he saw him again.

 

And then Ms. Hill’s voice was there, asking who was calling.

 

“Ms. Hill!” Steve said. “Is Bucky awake, can I talk to him?”

 

“Steve?” Ms. Hill sounded confused.

 

“Yeah,” Steve confirmed. Who else would be calling for Bucky at nine o’clock at night? Everyone they knew lived at the orphanage. “Is Bucky awake?”

 

“Steve, I thought Bucky told you already,” Ms. Hill said.

 

Her pause was cryptic enough to make Steve nervous.

 

“Told me what? Is Bucky okay?”

 

“Oh, of course sweetie. It’s just that he’s been adopted.”

 

Steve felt his heart stutter. He’d had asthma nearly his whole life, he knew what it felt like to not be able to breathe, and it kind of felt like that right now. Bucky had something to tell him yesterday. This was it. He’d been adopted. How far away was he? What if Steve never saw him again? He could be halfway across the globe right now, in Russia, sitting in the snow, while Steve sat on Tony Stark’s couch.

 

As if sensing his distress, Ms. Hill quickly amended, “He’s not that far, Steve. Just Alpine.”

 

“ _New Jersey_ ,” Steve moaned into the receiver. It was worse than he’d imagined.

 

Bucky was probably walking around feeling soulless and defeated, trapped in New Jersey, only catching glimpses of New York across the Hudson, through the smog.

 

“Ms. Hill I have to call him right now,” Steve said, trying to make his voice sound as persuasive as possible. “I have to make sure he’s okay.”

 

“He’s fine, Steve. The man who adopted him passed all of our background checks and met with Bucky yesterday. He’s in good hands.”

 

“But—”

 

“Speaking of adoption, does Mr. Stark know you’re up calling friends at this hour?”

 

“Mr. Stark said that bedtime is an artificial construct—”

 

“Oh-kay, who is this?” Tony’s voice said, suddenly right behind Steve. The phone got plucked from Steve’s hand and then Tony was above him, pressing the speaker to his ear and turning several shades paler. “Ms. Hill, you know Steve. He was kidding, such a kidster. The little slugger has a bedtime, in fact it's past his bedtime right now. We’re gonna hang up and both work on sleeping right this second, goodbye, sweet dreams!”

 

Tony hung up and looked down at Steve from where he was leaning against the back of the couch.

 

Steve looked up at him, it helped to not cry, staring up at something.

 

“You trying to get me in trouble, kid?”

 

Steve was not going to cry, he was not. But Tony quirked an eyebrow at him and, oh my god Bucky used to quirk his eyebrow at Steve, and then he was curling in on himself, shoulders shaking, still not crying. Tony made no move to comfort him and remained hovering and useless as Steve became a quivering ball on the couch. After five minutes of half-hearted jokes and aborted attempts at condolence, Tony went, “Wait, is this about Binky?” And Steve started shaking even harder.

 

It was only 9:30 and Tony Stark put a blanket over his shoulders and the love of his life was in New Jersey and his life was over.

 

**CHAPTER 8:**

 

It’d been just over 45 hours since Steve Rogers became aware that Bucky Barnes had been adopted and forcibly moved to New Jersey, and Tony had had enough. It was kind of cute, if not heartbreaking the first day or so, as Steve wallowed on the couch and refused to be moved for food or promises of more Mets games or even a visit from Sam. Tony had watched the kid sit, cocooned in the same blanket Tony wrapped around his shoulders two days ago, and adapt his entire lifestyle to living on the couch and playing Tony’s video games.

 

Tony had fixed every car in his garage, finished upgrading the security system for the building, and even completed all dozen inane tasks and projects Pepper had left for him to handle while she rendezvoused with Bruce in Boston for a conference. He was bored out of his mind. And while normally he could have found several ways to entertain himself, he was pretty sure being a parent meant you couldn’t leave your kid alone, heartbroken, and teary-eyed, even if he was assured Steve wouldn’t get off the damn couch cushions unless by some miracle Bunky himself walked out of the elevator and into the living room. So.

 

It was either get a babysitter or trick Steve into leaving the apartment. And since the entire purpose of the pseudo-adoption in the first place had been for Tony to show he was responsible enough to handle a kid by himself for a week, a babysitter was kind of moot.

 

Trick Steve into leaving the apartment it was.

 

“Hey, Steve-o,” Tony said, coming up behind Steve on the couch.

 

Steve lifted his head enough to see it was Tony approaching and returned to half-heartedly pushing buttons on his Wii controller. The avatar on the TV keeled over and died and Steve lowered the controller to the couch with a sigh.

 

Tony felt something pang in his chest. It took all of his decades of feigning indifference to not show Steve, in this moment, that somehow his heart had grown half a size larger just because Steve was anguished and terrible at videogames.

 

“What is it Tony?” Steve asked, snapping Tony out of his reverie.

 

It took a moment for Tony to process that Steve had called him by his first name, with seemingly little regret. It took another to remember why he’d approached the kid in the first place.

 

“I’m sick of being cooped up in this place, it’s time we got some fresh air,” Tony said.

 

“No thanks,” Steve said, pulling his blanket over his face. The ‘Game Over’ screen kept repeating it's depressing defeatist musical number on repeat as Tony stared at the sad lump that was Steve Rogers.

 

“You ever been to the Met, kid?”

 

It took a moment but Steve pulled the blanket back enough for Tony to see his watery blue eyes.

 

“The Met?”

 

“The Met,” Tony nodded.

 

“Can Sam come?” Steve asked.

 

Tony would have invited Batman, if it got Steve off the couch.

 

“I’ll give Rhodey a call,” Tony said, agreeably.

 

Steve fiddled with the edge of the blanket for a moment before pulling it off himself and moving to stand. He wobbled in the direction of his bedroom, presumably to get dressed, but he hesitated at the edge of the hall.

 

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” Steve said, soft.

 

“No problem,” Tony said. And then, after Steve had gone into his room, Tony Stark flopped over the back of his couch and buried his head on an armrest to hide the ridiculous smile that had crawled onto his face.

 

Two minutes later he texted Rhodey.

 

Me: bring The Nephew to the Met

Me: operation: make Steve smile commences at 1200 hours

 

WarMachineROX: you realize i have a job and it is a weekday

WarMachineROX: right?

 

+

 

Operation: Make Steve Smile, went off without a hitch.

 

Using his powerful skills of observation and genius-level intelligence to connect the fact that Steve liked to draw to the possibility he might be interested in one of the most famous art museums in the world was probably one of the most important things Tony had done in years. Steve had sat in front of The Starry Night for almost twenty minutes, nearly in tears, with The Nephew patting his shoulder in consolation.

 

Tony had pictures on his phone as evidence for when the kid was old enough to be embarrassed.

 

Not that Tony would be around when the kid was old enough to be embarrassed. A fact that had Tony watching Steve with trepidation while they were eating pad thai in Chinatown. Apropos of a long and successful day out, Steve was funnelling bean sprouts into his mouth with rapture. Tony, with his side of dumplings, was carefully dipping each dumpling in soy sauce and eating them slowly, trying to make it evident that he was more concerned about his food than he was of Steve Rogers.

 

Rhodey, who was sitting beside Tony with The Nephew, was not making it unclear that he was staring at Tony in confusion.

 

Tony could not remedy Rhodey’s confusion because he was also confused. He had known Steve Rogers for five days, two of which he’d laid on Tony’s couch inconsolable because the love of his life was taken to New Jersey, and Tony could no longer imagine a life without him.

 

It was like when he’d been eight and friendless and he’d formed a quick and deep-rooted attachment to a pigeon that lived on the roof of his family’s penthouse. Except Steve was not a pigeon and Tony was not eight and Steve wasn’t going to leave him when winter came and head south for four months only to return irritable and pregnant. No, Steve was going to leave in two days. When the trial adoption period was over.

 

So Tony was staring at Steve and Rhodey was staring at Tony and Steve was staring at his beansprouts and once in awhile practically bursting into tears because ‘Binky would’ve loved beansprouts’ and The Nephew probably shouldn’t have been dragged into this at all.

 

It was only later, when they’d said goodbye to Rhodey and The Nephew and were walking back to the tower because Steve had cringed when the company limo had pulled up to the curb, that Tony realized what he was feeling was probably love.

 

He loved this kid.

 

Steve was pointing at a Strand cart and dragging Tony to look at books under the dying light of another day, in this big city. And Tony loved him for it. Tony Stark loved Steve Rogers, another human being, and he wasn’t scared to admit it. He loved the kids enthusiasm, his sketches, the way he played video games. He loved his intelligence and his charisma and his odd loyalty to his friends and he even loved that he loved the kid named Bunky. He could touch the kids shoulder, right now, and tell him, and he wouldn’t feel like he wasn’t good enough to love back.

 

“Steve—”

 

“Mr. Rhodes was staring at you during dinner,” Steve said, around a mouthful of pretzel.

 

Tony didn’t know where he’d gotten the pretzel.

 

“Was he?”

 

Steve nodded.

 

“Speaking of people that stare at things. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” Tony didn’t wait for Steve to agree before he plowed on. “You know, in life, people leave sometimes—”

 

“Are you talking about Bucky?” Steve said, suddenly stiffening.

 

“What? No,” Tony said.

 

“Okay,” Steve said, narrowing his eyes. He took another bite of his pretzel.

 

They were basically in front of the tower and Tony didn’t want to have this conversation inside, so he led them to a bench. Steve sat and automatically began swinging his legs.

 

Tony hadn’t felt this nervous before board meetings before. And he ran a multi-billion dollar company.

 

“So people leave sometimes and, like, they don’t have to? If it turns out they like the other person and are cool with living with them and they’re compatible and like, like each other. Not like-like each other, jeez, like, just like each other. Why is this so hard?” Tony asked the universe. He put his head in his hands.

 

When he looked up again, Steve was looking at him with sympathy. An eleven-year-old, looking at Tony Stark, with sympathy.

 

“I understand,” Steve said, patting him on the shoulder.

 

“You do?”

 

“Yeah, I mean, I love Bucky and he’s gone forever now, so. I understand how it feels when someone you love leaves you. Especially when you could’ve done something to stop it,” Steve said. Steve sounded like this had happened years ago, instead of in less than two days.

 

Tony tried to say, “Exactly, that’s why I think I should adopt you.” But he only got as far as ‘Exactly’ before Steve said:

 

“So are you going to tell Mr. Rhodes you love him, already?”

 

“What?” Tony said.

 

“What?” Rhodey said.

 

Tony turned around in horror. Rhodey was standing a few feet away, carrying one of the gift bags from the museum.

 

“Steve forgot this,” Rhodey said, looking awkward.

 

And then, before anyone could say anything, Tony’s cellphone rang.

 

**CHAPTER 9:**

 

“Hello?” Mr. Stark snapped at his cellphone.

 

He looked equal parts tired and frustrated, but as he listened to whoever was on the line his eyebrows slowly smoothed over. Now, instead of looking impatient, he just seemed curious.

 

“Yeah, he’s right here,” he said, then handed the phone to Steve.

 

Steve, having cycled through a dozen emotions in the last minute or so, felt the slightest twinge of fear as he said, “Hello?”

 

“Stevie?” Bucky said.

 

Steve felt like he’d been on the brink of tears for days and he almost cried for real now at hearing Bucky’s voice on the other end of the line. With one word, Bucky sounded breathless and distraught and so unlike the brazen, outspoken kid he had grown up with.

 

“Buck? Are you okay? Ms. Hill said—”

 

“I’m sorry Stevie, I don’t have much time,” Bucky said, and he was definitely breathless from more than just emotion. He sounded like he’d been running. He sounded scared.

 

“Where are you?”

 

“Still in fucking Jersey. Listen, Stevie, remember where we always said we’d meet? If we ever had to run?”

 

“Yeah?” Steve said, looking up at Mr. Stark and Mr. Rhodes’ confounded expressions.

 

“Good.” Bucky paused. “I really missed you Steve.”

 

“I missed you too, Buck. Are you okay?” Steve asked, again, mostly sure Bucky wouldn’t answer.

 

“I’m fine,” Bucky said, but he didn’t sound sure. There was a longer pause between them in which Steve could hear water sloshing somewhere in the background, a horn bellowing, the low murmur of conversation that too often became white noise in a place like New York.

 

Then there was a voice, a ‘Hey kid, you done?,’ and Bucky was telling Steve he had to go. And the line went dead.

 

“Bucky? Buck?” Steve asked, even though it was clear the call had ended.

 

“Was that Binky?” Mr. Stark asked.

 

And Steve, promptly, burst into tears.

 

**CHAPTER 10:**

 

Tony did not get a chance to talk to his steady-lay-best-friend about being in love with him because by the time they got Steve to calm down and convinced him to take a nap, Maria Hill had let herself into the building and was sitting on his couch. Apparently, Binky was missing.

 

Tony wasn’t surprised. From the sound of the phone call Steve had gotten, the kid had caught a ferry out of New Jersey and was headed back to civilization. Or, at least Manhattan.

 

“What exactly did he say to Steve?” Maria Hill was asking. She had her arms crossed across her chest. Her hair was pinned back without a single strand out of place and with her legs crossed in her trim black pantsuit, she looked like she could kill Tony with a raise of an eyebrow. If Tony hadn’t been so used to Pepper, he might have been intimidated. As it was, he was incredibly used to Pepper.

 

“I told you,” Tony said, again. “Steve said Buckaroo just told the kid he missed him. That can’t be that hard to believe.”

 

“It isn’t,” Maria Hill said. “Of course, having been the guardian of those boys for several years, what I find hard to believe is that Steve doesn’t know where James is.”

 

Tony narrowed his eyes at Maria Hill. She didn’t seem like the type to want to raise children. She seemed more like one of those businesswoman by day, secret agent by night types. Again, like Pepper.

 

Speaking of Pepper.

 

The elevator opened with a ping and revealed Pepper Potts, she had a stack of papers in one arm and a briefcase in the other.

 

“Tony, the board just called an emergency meeting—” Pepper said, all business, before she saw Maria.

 

Well, thought Tony, watching Pepper’s cheeks. _That_ was an interesting shade of red.

 

“Oh. Maria.” Pepper stopped mid-stride. “What’s going on?”

 

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Maria?”

 

“We— She—” Pepper spluttered. A paper from her stack fluttered from her arm and slid under a chair.

 

“We’re dating,” Maria Hill said to Tony. Then, to Pepper, “Bucky Barnes, one of Steve’s friends ran away from his adoptive father. I believe Steve knows where he is.”

 

“Ran away?” Pepper said, clearly alarmed.

 

“Dating?” Tony said, aghast. “And you didn’t tell me? Is this where you got the idea of adopting Steve? Because you started dating Ms. Hannigan?”

 

“It’s Hill,” Maria Hill corrected.

 

“It was a joke,” Tony groaned.

 

Rhodey, who had been keeping Steve company while the kid fell asleep, entered to the alarming sight of Pepper flushed from head to toe, Maria Hill delivering a pretty epic-eye roll in Tony’s direction, and Tony Stark, wounded and betrayed, flailing on the couch.

 

“What did I miss?” Rhodey sighed.

 

“I need to speak to Steve,” Maria Hill reiterated. If this was a cartoon Tony knew this was the exact moment Maria Hill’s aggravated forehead vein would pop out and begin pulsing.

 

Rhodey paused at the top of the stairs that separated the living room from the rest of the space.

 

“Steve?” Rhodey said. “I thought— I went to the bathroom and when I came back he wasn’t in his room. I thought he was with you.”

 

Tony immediately stood from the couch. There were only two ways out of the building from this floor. The elevator in the living room was one, but while Tony was admittedly intimidated of Maria Hill he wouldn’t have missed Steve wandering past both of them, waiting patiently for the doors to open, and riding Tony’s self-programmed security enabled Super High Tech elevator all the way to the first floor. So that just left the stairs. Unfortunately for all of them, the emergency stairwell was on the other side of the apartment, closer to Steve’s room than to the living room. And while there were, like, five bajillion floors in the building, Steve could have snuck down to one of the lower levels, taken an elevator from there, and been gone for almost as long as Tony had been quivering under Maria Hill’s steely gaze.

 

Naturally, while Tony was too busy worrying about tiny toddler Steve Roger’s hailing a cab in downtown Manhattan he was not worrying about bumping into Rhodey on his way out of the living room. Maria Hill then crashed into both of them and Pepper, in her attempt to catch someone, anyone, dropped every file in her hands.

 

While Maria Hill bemoaned her wrinkled pantsuit to Pepper, Tony found himself sprawled all over Rhodey. His hands had fallen on either side of his head and Rhodey was squinting up at him. Tony couldn’t tell if he was in awe or in pain.

 

“Tony, you weigh a goddamn ton, man,” Rhodey said.

 

The latter then.

 

Despite the prompting from Rhodey, Tony couldn’t really remember why he’d been so eager to leave the room in the first place. He felt like he had so much to say just then but couldn’t sort out what to say first. His thoughts were being tugged in a trillion directions but coalescing the longer he stared at Rhodey’s pupils, as if they were being sucked down a drain.

 

When Tony was younger and his parents died, Rhodey’s dad had brought Rhodey over almost everyday so they could play together. The only problem was that Tony was often a little shit and would ignore Rhodey completely in order to work on one project or another. He’d work for an hour on a math equation and then for two on the engine of one of his dad’s cars and then he’d spend the rest of the evening tearing apart appliances in his kitchen, trying to invent a hoverboard or something equally ridiculous and impractical. If his hands weren’t moving, his mind not wrapped around a puzzle, he’d remember his parents were gone and he was all alone in the world.

 

On one such evening Tony was taking apart his blender and Rhodey, who’d been sitting in a corner with his Gameboy, seemingly used to Tony’s antics, wandered over when Tony hissed in pain. He wrapped a Band-Aid around part of Tony’s finger that had been sliced open by the blender’s blade and asked if Tony was okay. Tony could still remember the moment he discovered there was something else that could distract him from the shitty world, and that was Rhodey. There was something to be said about all those shitty love songs that described staring into a loved one’s eyes. For Tony, there was no better cure for his anxiety than Rhodey’s fingers on his skin and his voice, a whisper, asking if he was okay.

 

Speaking of Rhodey’s voice. Tony realized Rhodey had been speaking for awhile now, drawing circles on Tony’s back as Tony shook on top of him. Was this a panic attack? It wasn’t anything like any panic attack Tony had ever had.

 

The world came back in snatches. Rhodey’s voice, low in his ears. Rhodey’s hands pressed against his skin. The low drum of the A/C pumping into the room. Maria Hill giving orders in the background.

 

Maria Hill.

 

_Steve_.

 

“Tony. Emergency meeting. I was not kidding when I said that.” Pepper said, somewhere behind him. Then, “Is he okay?”

 

Rhodey was looking up at her and nodding.

 

“You’re okay, bud, right? You’re okay,” Rhodey said.

 

“Steve,” Tony said, sitting up. “What about Steve?”

 

Rhodey sat up with him, his hands sliding up to Tony’s shoulders.

 

“I will get every security personnel not vital to the building at the moment, looking for Steve. If you aren’t at this meeting in fifteen minutes, we will all be jobless in twenty-four hours.” Pepper was typing on her phone, her hair was askew, papers were still scattered on the floor.

 

Tony looked at Rhodey.

 

“I’ll get Steve,” Rhodey said. “Don’t even worry about it, I’ll find him.”

 

If this were a movie this would be the moment when Tony would sweep Rhodey into his arms, declare his undying love for him, and head off to battle, preferably after a kickass musical number. Unfortunately, they did not have time for the musical number.

 

Tony leaned in and kissed Rhodey, on the mouth, in front of Pepper and Maria Hill and most of the New York City skyline. When he pulled away Rhodey’s lips were twitching into a smile.

 

“Talk later?” Tony said.

 

Rhodey nodded.

 

Tony would kiss him once more for luck if time wasn’t of the essence. As it was, he stood, straightened his collar and ran a hand through his hair. He tried not to think of Steve getting farther away by the second. And he followed Pepper into the elevator.

 

**CHAPTER 11:**

 

When Steve Rogers had first arrived at the Municipal Boys Orphanage of Brooklyn, New York, Division 12, he’d been young and cute. Younger and cuter than he was even now, at eleven. But more importantly, young and cute enough to be considered for adoption. There had been what felt like dozens of couples who had swept in to meet with him. They all had bright white smiles and crisp clothes and fingers that loved to squeeze his cheeks. He spent most of his time being interviewed behaving as prickly as possible. He didn’t want a new home or new parents. He wanted his old ones, and according to Ms. Hill, they weren’t coming back.

 

So Steve Rogers was not interested in being relocated again, he wasn’t interested in new parents, and he especially wasn’t interested in leaving his new friends. There was one kid, Bucky Barnes who was, what his mother would have called: trouble. And he was the only one that could get Steve to smile these days.

 

So Steve was staying.

 

There was one enthusiastic couple who hadn’t gotten the memo. No matter how bratty and petulant Steve behaved, they thought he was an angel. They liked petting his soft golden hair and squeezing his cheeks while they cooed at his blue eyes. They interviewed him for twenty minutes and then told Ms. Hill they’d ‘take him.’

 

Steve did the only thing a five-year-old could do in this situation. He ran away. He packed all of his things into his pillowcase: his trading cards, his pictures of his mom and dad, his mom’s Brooklyn Dodgers hat, and a change of clothes. He left his toothbrush behind, good riddance. And he snuck out in what felt like the dead of night but was actually only 10:15 and in New York especially was only the beginning of the night. Regardless he got two blocks away before he realized he wasn’t allowed to cross the street without an adult. He glared mutinously at the streetlight.

 

It was there that Bucky Barnes found him, an hour later, with a pillowcase of his own. He’d brought a loaf of bread and a jar of grape jelly (he’d remember Steve’s peanut allergy) and they parked themselves on the stairs of a nearby apartment building, eating their spoils until the clock at the church down the street chimed midnight.

 

“You know,” Bucky had said. “Next time we run away we should go to the Brooklyn Bridge.”

 

Steve wrinkled his nose. “But we’re not allowed to cross the street.”

 

Bucky laughed. “But, like if we were. If we really had to run away and we were old enough, we should meet at the Brooklyn Bridge.”

 

“Why?” Steve asked. “It’s so far away.”

 

“It’s not that far,” Bucky had said. “But it’s just far enough.”

 

When Steve had been five, that statement had been kind of profound. At eleven, it just made him scared.

 

Sneaking out of Tony’s building had been easier than he’d thought it would. Taking the subway to Brooklyn had been even easier. For some reason, no one batted an eye to an eleven-year-old riding miles away from Manhattan, all alone. That was one of the good things about New York, he supposed. The hard part was finding Bucky. Because while the Brooklyn Bridge as a meeting spot was nice in theory, in practice it was a big bridge and it was crowded. There had to be hundreds of kids Bucky’s age, and dozens of mid-size scraggly white kids with dirty brown hair. And it was dark now, the last of the light fading from the horizon. Even with help of streetlights, it was that much harder to see who was on the bridge. Bucky could be anywhere.

 

He only realized it was him because Buck was wearing one of Steve’s sweaters. Steve’s comfiest red sweater was small on Bucky, especially when he had the hood up.

He was slumped on a bench toward the middle of the bridge, curled around his left arm. The sweater strained around Bucky’s shoulders, so it was easy to see that Bucky was in pain.

 

Steve had never been scared of Bucky. They were best friends and they fought like friends did sometimes and even though Steve was small for his age Bucky had never made him feel like his size hindered his ability to fight back. They’d tussled when they were younger, small hands grabbing at hair and elbows in ribs. And when they were a little older they’d thrown hurtful words at each other, taking out frustration in all the wrong places. Ms. Hill sometimes said that they’d been teenagers for years, aged from their loss and they way they had to live. So to this day, Steve had never been scared of Bucky. They were best friend, they were equals.

 

He was afraid of how Bucky looked now, though, hurt and scared. Tensed to fight. Steve wasn’t scared of being hurt by him, he was scared approaching him would make him run.

 

For the first time in both their lives, Steve didn’t rush to Bucky’s side. He didn’t slap him on the back, pull him into a hug, or wait for Bucky’s answering smile. He approached him slow and cautious, eased himself on the bench beside him and kept his hands to himself.

 

Bucky’s shoulders looked like they were curling in on themselves. Like he was trying to fold himself in half, disappear altogether.

 

He relaxed at Steve’s voice.

 

“Buck?” Steve said. “Bucky?”

 

Bucky turned to look at him. His hair hung in front of his face. He looked sweaty and pale.

 

There was no recognition in his eyes for a moment. A moment in which Steve had a brief thought that this wasn’t Bucky at all. That this Bucky-imposter would say “Bucky who?” And leave Steve alone on this bridge, no closer to finding his best friend.

 

But just then Bucky’s expression crumpled. He reached for Steve with his right arm and pulled him into a stiff hug. They were both breathing hard and dangerously close to tears, but Steve didn’t care. He went to put his arms around Bucky but Bucky hissed and pulled away.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“I don’t know,” Bucky said. His eyes were crinkled in pain.

 

Bucky didn’t stop him as Steve reached over and unzipped the hoodie, pushed it back so he could see the bare skin of Bucky’s shoulder. Steve had never seen anything like it. Bucky’s arm was black and blue, yellow at the edges, and swollen almost twice its normal size. He would have noticed sooner if he’d been sitting on his other side, and now, looking at it, it was all he could see.

 

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve said. “What the hell happened?”

 

Bucky’s teeth were gritted. As Steve’s hands fell from his skin, Bucky zipped his sweater back up and resumed his hunched position. “I don’t know. He just— he grabbed my arm.”

 

“Who?” Steve asked.

 

“Pierce,” Bucky said. “My asshole of a legal guardian.”

 

“Your dad did this to you?” Steve said. There was anger prickling in his veins, making him itchy.

 

“That guy is not a dad.” Bucky said. “I don’t know what he is but I’m never going back.”

 

Steve bit back his “What happened’s?” He could see that Bucky didn’t want to talk about it. He would tell him later, when they were safe and half-asleep. They had their best conversations when they were barely conscious. Pestering Bucky for answers now would only make him more defensive.

 

“Let’s get out of here, Bucky,” Steve said. “You need a doctor or something.”

 

“No hospitals,” Bucky said, suddenly frantic. He clutched at Steve’s wrist. “Someone will tell him where I am.”

 

“Okay,” Steve said, amenably. “No hospitals. But we need to find a safe place. We can’t stay here.”

 

Bucky agreed.

 

Steve helped him stand and kept a hand on Bucky’s hip, to keep him steady. Bucky’s good arm wrapped around his shoulders, his hand squeezing Steve’s bicep. They hobbled back toward Brooklyn, tangled together.

 

Bucky said, “It’s good to see you, punk.”

 

Steve said, “I missed you, you jerk.”

 

The world was finally whole again.

 

**CHAPTER 12:**

 

Stark Industries had had a Board of Directors for many years. Tony’s dad had been much better at wrangling the big wigs than Tony had ever been, which was strange considering that Tony had been answering to more or less the same panel of men and women since his parents died. Far longer than his dad ever had. He should be used to it by now. Tony being Tony, however, prevented much grace when dealing with people who had power over him. Tony’s father could have told them all that years ago.

 

So it shouldn’t have been surprising that Tony Stark, CEO, engineer, inventor, and grown ass man, was reduced to a hormonal teenager when sitting at the head of a table of a group of people whose primary job was to boss him around.

 

“What is it this time gentlemen and gentlewoman?” Tony asked. His arms were crossed, his feet up on the table. Pepper was glaring at him disapprovingly from the doorway, but Tony didn’t know why she cared. Even if their jobs were at stake, she wasn’t even allowed to sit at the table, and she knew more about this company than Tony did. She had more reason to hate these people than anybody in this room.

 

“Did my going to a Mets game somehow affect our stocks? Did an investor complain because I was chewing gum at the Met?”

 

“You were chewing gum at the Met?” Big Wig #5 said, aghast.

 

There were six of them. Three on either side of the table. Three men and three women, all old with short hair and dressed in similarly expensive suits. Tony had never bothered to learn any of their names.

 

Before an uprising of remarks against Tony’s character could take over the matter at hand, Big Wig #1 shushed the others and turned on Tony. Her hands were folded in front of her on the table. She had a copy of today’s New York Times in front of her and she passed it down the line of big wigs until it reached Tony’s hands.

 

On the cover was a picture of Tony with Steve on the sidewalk. Tony was sure Rhodey and The Nephew were somewhere beside them but the picture was a close-up of Tony and Steve’s faces. The headline was: TONY STARK CLEANING UP, BIG BROTHER FIGURE TO CITY’S ORPHANS

 

Tony peered up at the big wigs from over the top of the paper.

 

“You can’t possibly be mad about this,” Tony said.

 

“We’re not,” Big Wig #3 confirmed.

 

“But?” Tony prompted.

 

“No buts,” Big Wig #4 said, taking the paper from him.

 

Perhaps it came from a childhood of rebellion, but Tony wasn’t buying the whole ‘we’re totally cool with this’ development. He crossed his arms again.

 

“So if you’re happy with the results, why did you call an emergency meeting? Why did you terrify my assistant to get me here and why aren’t you saying anything now that I am?”

 

“So impatient,” Big Wig #1 said. “No pleasantries. Fine. We called you here to tell you to continue with the ‘big brother’ initiative. We’d like you to be seen with more of these children: barbecues, company-sponsored birthday parties, movie premieres, basketball games. Whatever these kids want, as long as it's a public event, we want you there.”

 

Tony gaped.

 

“It’s been incredibly good press for the company, them seeing you with this orphan—”

 

“Steve,” Pepper interrupted.

 

“Excuse me?” Big Wig #2 said. All of them turned in their chairs to stare at Pepper.

 

“The orphan’s name, sir. It’s Steve Rogers.”

 

“Steve, then. We want more of him. It’s the least you could do for us, Tony. After all these years of acting spoiled and uninhibited while we dealt with your mistakes. The least you could do for us is be seen with these children.”

 

For one of the only times in his life, Tony felt speechless. This whole thing, the last few days, Steve, the Mets, the Met, his emotions all out of whack and helplessly in love with people for the first time in years. All of it had been to please this panel of heartless, corporate zombies.

 

Actually, Tony took it back. Zombies deserved better than to be compared to the likes of these people.

 

Tony could feel the anger roiling inside him, ready to be put into words. One time, when he was thirteen, he’d climbed on the table during one of these meetings and screamed in a man’s face for insinuating something heinous about his parents. He might just do it again, get up on the table, tear the newspaper in half. He was feeling risky. He was furious. These people were assholes and Steve was missing in Manhattan. He had better places to be.

 

But before he could get a word in, Pepper did. She came up behind Tony and put a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Excuse me,” she said. “But Mr. Stark will have to decline this proposal.”

 

For a moment, it looked like the big wigs were about to respond but none of them did. They just sat, uselessly, waiting for one of their colleagues to say something, but no one stepped up.

 

“The primary orphan in question, Steve Rogers, has become, as of this morning, Mr. Stark’s legal ward. How would it look to the press for a new father to be seen, as you’ve suggested, collecting children in packs? I think we can all agree this company does not need another child raised by flighty and selfish parental figures.”

 

Tony whistled.

 

Several of the big wigs were turning bright red. Tony wouldn’t have been surprised if smoke starting pouring out of their ears.

 

“Mr. Stark will, of course, be donating money and spending time with the kids at Steve’s orphanage. As Steve requests. And I have a feeling, Steve will request time and money be donated to other orphanages in the city as well.” Pepper continued. “But I would hope none in this room would assume that those actions were contingent on your suggestions today.”

 

“Ms. Potts are you aware how you sound to the committee at this juncture?” Big Wig #1 said, straightening in her seat. She probably thought she looked menacing with her hair and shoulders thrown back, but there was red high on her cheekbones and she looked more like she’d been caught in a wind tunnel than imbued with any kind of power.

 

“Mr. Stark has another meeting at the moment, I’m afraid we’ll be leaving,” Pepper said.

 

Tony stood to follow her, but before they could hustle from the room one of the big wigs shouted, “Ms. Potts you’re fired.”

 

Tony turned just enough to smile at the group. “No she’s not, totally not fired. We’re leaving now.”

 

He went to close the door behind them but made a split second decision. He opened it a little wider and stuck his head back in the boardroom.

 

“Oh and I’m bisexual, just by the way. I’ll be officially dating my boyfriend of many years by sometime tonight so I would appreciate it if Pepper and I didn’t receive any angry phone calls from you guys when it leaks to the press. It’s 2016. Okay, good talk, bye bye!”

 

It wasn’t until he and Pepper were in the elevator, headed straight to the ground floor to hit to the streets and look for Steve, that Pepper started to laugh.

 

Tony just watched her. He was so glad she was always there for him and he didn’t know how to say that without sounding sappy and more than likely bursting into tears. So he just stood and watched her laugh and was glad she was happy. She never deserved to worry about the safety of her job because Tony couldn’t get it together, she never had, and she hopefully never would again. Although with Tony, who really knew.

 

“You’re getting a raise,” Tony said.

 

“I know,” she said.

 

**CHAPTER 13:**

 

There was one place Steve could take Bucky that he knew without a doubt was safe. They couldn’t go back to Stark Tower because Ms. Hill could find them there, and where Ms. Hill was Alexander Pierce could be. They couldn’t go back to the orphanage for the same reason, or school, or anywhere public lest the police should find them and drag them home. There was only one place that was really, truly, off the grid.

 

“So about this kid, Sam,” Bucky said. “He’s cool?”

 

“He’s _so_ cool,” Steve promised. “He’s our age and he has his family’s whole basement to himself. He texted me his address a couple days ago in case I ever wanted to hang out.”

 

“Is he cooler than me, is what I’m asking, Steve,” Bucky quipped. He was clenching his teeth in pain, but trying to smirk all the same.

 

“No one is as cool as you, Buck,” Steve promised. “But Sam is pretty awesome. He let me borrow his 3DS while we were at the Mets game.”

 

“He sounds like a good dude,” Bucky said in agreement.

 

They were on the subway and it felt like they’d been on the subway forever. Sam lived in the Bronx, not really far by train, but with Bucky’s arm the way it was, everywhere felt just a little too far. Even though they were sitting every bump and turn, every commuter that brushed Bucky the wrong way, made Bucky go a little grayer. He’d puked before they’d gotten on the train and Steve was fairly sure the only thing keeping him from doing it again was his empty stomach.

 

Luckily Sam’s house wasn’t too far from the station. They hobbled down the sidewalk, staying out of the way of native New Yorkers breezing past them and lost tourists idling on every corner.

 

Steve didn’t have his cellphone with him, he’d forgotten it in his rush to leave Stark Tower. But he had never had one before and was pretty good at memorizing names and numbers that were important. He’d memorized Sam’s number and address almost the moment they were given to him. So Steve knew not to knock on the front door of the apartment building he knew was Sams. Instead, he and Bucky went around the back and knocked on the basement door.

 

There was a scuffle somewhere inside, a rushing of socked feet, and then a face appeared in the mailslot. It was a small boy that frowned up at Steve and Bucky, with dark skin and pursed lips, rimmed by the soft light pouring from the basement. His face was horizontal so they could see the full judgement of his expression.

 

“Is Sam here?” Steve asked.

 

“What’s the password?” The boy asked.

 

“Um,” Steve said. “Everyone we know is looking for us? And Bucky is hurt? Could you get Sam?”

 

“What’s the password?” The boy asked again, resolutely.

 

Steve had to admire his tenacity.

 

There was a brief moment of silence in which Steve tried to remember if Sam’s favorite Super Smash Brother was Kirby or Pikachu, and considered whether or not that would be the answer. Before he could guess there was a hand pushing the boy’s face away from the mailslot. Then, Sam’s voice, going, “C’mon man, that’s my friend. We don’t even _have_ a password.”

 

“We should!” The boy’s voice shouted over Sam opening the door.

 

“Steve?” Sam said. He was dressed for bed and his hair looked wet from a shower. “I know I said come over whenever but you don’t look like you’re here for a playdate.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, propping Bucky up a little more. His weight was slipping from Steve’s arms, neither of them able to hold him up for much longer. “We didn’t know where else to go.”

 

Sam looked both of them over carefully. His eyes lingering on Bucky’s swollen shoulder. “Sorry for my cousin,” he said. “Eli, this is Steve and Bucky. Now go away.”

 

The basement was less of the private room Sam had described and more of a kid’s playroom. There were toys, a TV with video game consoles, and clothes strewn on the floor of one half, and three beds set up on the other side.

 

Sam’s cousin was dressed in a Captain America onesie, he couldn’t have been older than five or six but his expression was carefully mulish. He scrunched his nose and sat with a thump on one of the beds. “No,” he said.

 

Sam sighed and opened the door wider. “You guys better come in.”

 

+

 

Rhodey had no idea where to look for Steve. He’d told Tony he’d find the kid, so he was going to find the kid, but Rhodey had known Steve for less than a week. The only things Rhodey knew about him was that he was from Brooklyn, his best friend was named Bucky Barnes, and he’d become fast friends with Sam.

 

_Sam_ , Rhodey thought. _Duh_.

 

Sam could probably help Rhodey find Steve. Sam had exchanged numbers with the kid, and while Steve hadn’t brought his phone with him he might have told Sam where’d he go. The only problem about involving Sam was going to Sam’s house. At this time of night the whole family would be there. And by ‘whole family’ he didn’t just mean Sam and Sam’s parents. He meant mostly everyone he was related to.

 

There was one building in the Bronx where Rhodey’s cousins had bought up all the apartments and lived with their parents and children. It was a den of Rhodes’ cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. Stepping in the front door meant he’d almost certainly waste thirty minutes to an hour on greetings and holding babies and his grandma insisting he eat something. Normally, Rhodey loved his family. He loved going home to them. But today he didn’t have time. So instead of knocking on the front door like he normally would have, Rhodey went straight around back to the basement.

 

Luckily for him, a couple years ago Sam and a couple of the younger cousins had appropriated the basement and would likely be the only ones down there. If his mom found out he’d come home and hadn’t said hello to her he was likely to never hear the end of it, but in the moment there was no other option.

 

He knocked on the basement door and it only took a second for Eli’s face to appear in the mailslot.

 

“What’s the password?” Eli said, frowning up at him.

 

“Agent Carter,” Rhodey said dutifully.

 

“Correct,” Eli said. He closed the mailslot, supposedly to let Rhodey inside.

 

Unfortunately just as Rhodey heard the door unlatching there was a scuffle. He could hear Sam’s voice, shouting at his cousin. Eli shouting back. A couple of the other cousins voices mixed in here and there. Eli’s friend Nate must have been there too because there was a high pitched little-boy voice insisting on being louder than everyone else's.

 

And then, just when Rhodey was feeling confused about why his cousins were fighting, angry about why his cousins were fighting, impatience and anxiety about finding Steve, and sweaty for several reasons, he heard him. Somehow, over the din, he heard Steve’s voice. Not louder than the others but firm, sliding right through the cracks of the basement door.

 

Rhodey stood confused in the backyard for a moment longer and then he was running toward the front of the building. He leaned on the doorbell like he hadn’t since he was a punk kid and pushed past his Aunt Darlene with very little apology. He could hear his grandmother chiding him from the kitchen, saw his mom wide-eyed on the stairs, and felt a hand on his arm for only a moment before he was tearing past them all.

 

He pounded down the stairs to the basement not knowing what he would see. Maybe Steve Rogers eating Grandma Wilson’s meatloaf, surrounded by cousins. Maybe Steve Rogers playing Call of Duty with Eli and Nate. Maybe no Steve Rogers at all, maybe he’d imagined his voice, maybe he’d just really wanted Steve to be here. To be safe.

 

And then he was standing at the bottom of the stairs and Steve was really there. Steve was swaddled in a Justice League blanket on Sam’s bed, with an assortment of cousins and friends of cousins surrounding him. There were pilfered cookies and cartons of milk on the bed beside him and a whole plate of Grandma Wilson’s meatloaf, and Steve himself looking sheepish.

 

Steve flushed as Rhodey stared at him, said, “Hi, Mr. Rhodes.”

 

And Rhodey felt the world tilt back onto its axis. He hadn’t realized how worried he’d been about this scrawny little boy until he’d heard nothing but his voice, the promise of finding him. And only now did Rhodey allow himself to be worried and then to be relieved.

 

“Hey, kiddo,” Rhodey said. He pushed past a dozen gangly cousins and crouched beside Sam’s bed. “Everyone is really worried about you, you know.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, hanging his head.

 

Rhodey could tell already, it was going to be hell denying this kid anything.

 

It wasn’t until he’d gotten a good look at Steve, made sure he wasn’t bruised or battered and in acceptable condition to return to Tony without Tony have a stroke, that Rhodey noticed the other lump on the bed.

 

The second lump was behind Steve, lying down and curled on his right side. Rhodey had never seen the kid before but he knew it had to be Bucky Barnes. From what little of the kid’s face Rhodey could see, his skin was pale and sweaty. Except for the red high on his cheekbones, Rhodey wouldn’t have thought there was any blood left in Bucky’s body.

 

Bucky breathed and hissed. Steve looked at Rhodey and then slowly peeled the blankets and clothes back from Bucky’s shoulder.

 

Rhodey had been on tours. Had seen men injured in battle. But he’d never seen a kid hurt like Bucky was and the sight made even Rhodey a little dizzy.

 

“Samuel Thomas Wilson,” Rhodey said after a beat. “Does anyone upstairs know about this?”

 

Sam appeared from the crowd of cousins, wringing his hands. He shook his head. “We didn’t want to get them in trouble.”

 

“No one’s in trouble,” Rhodey promised. He pulled out his cellphone and discreetly dialed 911.

 

“No one’s in trouble,” he repeated to Steve, before he gave the dispatcher their address and the situation. As soon as the ambulance was on its way, Rhodey put his hand on Bucky’s ankle and gave it a squeeze.

 

Then he called Tony and told him to meet them at the hospital.

 

+

 

Tony loved New York City. He did not love the traffic. And he especially did not enjoy the traffic nearing midnight while he was trying to get to the hospital where his almost-adopted son who had been missing for several hours was with his best friend while he was in the ER for injuries inflicted by an abusive parent. If he’d had room, Tony would have paced. He needed a bigger limo.

 

Pepper had been very snippy with him in the past several minutes, telling him to relax and stop chewing his nails and sit still _goddammit_. But now she was sighing and watching him with resignation lining her face.

 

“You talked to Rhodey, Steve is fine. Stop worrying,” she said.

 

“I’m not worrying,” Tony said, crossing his legs and then uncrossing them. “Who’s worried?”

 

Pepper rolled her eyes. “You better not do this for the rest of his life. You cannot play the unbothered parent when he’s seventeen and late for his curfew.”

 

“No son of mine will have a curfew,” Tony said.

 

Pepper watched him very closely, she narrowed her eyes.

 

“Look, I have been with child for less than a week. If I had found out I was pregnant I wouldn’t have been able to process it in less than a week. It’s going to take awhile for me to realize this kid is with me for the rest of my life, especially when I’ve never had anybody around that long,” Tony said. When he was finished, he realized it had come out less sarcastic than he’d meant it to.

 

Pepper was watching him now with something akin to fondness. Tony wanted to crawl out the window.

 

“You’ve had Rhodey,” Pepper pointed out.

 

“Yes and I will be talking about that later, way to bring up something new and fun for me to worry about, Peps.”

 

“So, you admit you’re worried.”

 

Tony rolled down the divider between the back and front of the limo.

 

“Happy? How far are we from the hospital?” Tony asked.

 

“Ten blocks,” Happy said.

 

“Great, I’ll be getting out here. Take the rest of the night off, buddy.”

 

Ten blocks later, Tony was out of breath and Pepper-less but he could hear her behind him in her heels. He charged into the ER, past the line at the front desk and the bustle in the waiting room, he found a sign on the wall and led himself to the room number Rhodey had given him over the phone.

 

Tony didn’t know what he’d been expecting. Steve in an uncomfortable chair, Rhodey propped against a wall, a pale stranger of a kid on a gurney in the center of the room. A somber and sorry sight.

 

What he found was Steve in an uncomfortable chair, Rhodey propped against a wall, a pale stranger of a kid on a gurney in the center of the room, and a dozen of Rhodey’s relatives bustling about. Rhodey’s mom was saying something to Rhodey that made Rhodey look like he’d sucked a lemon, The Nephew was sitting on the arm of Steve’s chair, handing him a cookie. Three other gremlins were sitting in the two other available chairs. There was an older woman knitting while standing and chatting with another woman who was patting what Tony presumed was Bucky Barnes’ head. Bucky Barnes was not unconscious or somber. He was sitting up, his entire life side swaddled in bandages and connected to tubes and IVs, but he was smiling at Steve.

 

And then Bucky Barnes was looking past Steve and seeing Tony for the first time. The smile slid from his face. He looked Tony up and down and narrowed his eyes. For some reason Tony felt like this was the most important interview of his life. He stood a little straighter, uncrossed his arms.

 

Bucky Barnes nodded at him.

 

Tony wanted to ask if it was an ‘You’re okay’ nod or an ‘I’ll deal with you later’ nod, but he figured now wasn’t the time.

 

Also, right then, Bucky whispered something to Steve and Steve was turning. Steve was turned around in his seat and seeing Tony. They stared at each other.

 

If Tony had had no idea what to say before, he now had negative gajillion idea what to say. And that was a precise guesstimate, he was a scientist. Oh god, what had Tony been thinking. He couldn’t be a dad. He hadn’t had a good representation of a father figure and he never watched any good TV so how was he supposed to know how to raise a child? He was going to end up leaving all the parenting to Pepper and Rhodey and then they were all going to realize how useless he was and resent him and then take all his money and his child and the cat he didn’t have yet and abandon him for greener pastures. He was going to have to start all over and make new friends and find someone who didn’t mind that he slept during the day and was consistently awake until six am and that he never did his dishes or his laundry and never dealt with his self-deprecation and—

 

Actually he didn’t know what else would happen. Because Steve was hugging him. While Tony had been mulling over might-have-beens, Steve had stumbled out of his uncomfortable hospital chair and wrapped his small arms around Tony’s waist. Tony didn’t know how else to react besides to kneel and make it a real hug.

 

He didn’t know how to be a father and he wasn’t sure if he would mess up everything. But at least he knew how to hug.

 

And he had, like, a lot of money. That had to be a step-up on at least a few other dads.

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said to his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

 

Tony patted the kid’s back. “You should be, but for, like, nearly giving me a stroke, not the saving your best friend thing. At least bring your cell phone next time, kiddo.” Tony could sense Pepper had entered the room behind him and was giving him a disappointed glare. “And an adult chaperone. You are like, nine years old.”

 

“I’m eleven and a half.” Steve protested. But he was pretty much limp in Tony’s arms now and the protest wasn’t very insistent. The stress of the day and night washed over Steve until he was about half asleep, all of his weight leaned against Tony.

 

Tony hefted him into his arms and carried him to the only flat surface available. He laid Steve on the hospital bed, on Bucky’s good side lest Steve started kicking in his sleep. Bucky himself was seemingly unconscious, probably dozing on the good drugs.

 

Tony pushed Steve’s bangs off his face and then decided to be brave.

 

“Hey Steve-o,” Tony said, softly.

 

Steve stirred in his sleep, his eyes blinked open. He looked at Tony, the furrow between his tiny eyebrows the only confirmation Tony needed to ask his question.

 

“Would you like to live with me from now on?” Tony asked.

 

Steve frowned harder. “I thought that's what we were doing?”

 

“No kiddo, I mean, like, longer than a week,” Tony said.

 

“Oh,” Steve said. He yawned and closed his eyes again. “Okay, that sounds nice.”

 

Tony watched this kid fall asleep and felt a pang in his chest. His heart, three sizes too small, had grown a couple sizes, it was straining against his ribs. It hurt for him to breathe. He might have been crying? It was a big moment, okay.

 

Abruptly, Steve opened his eyes again and said, “Wait, do I have to call you dad now?”

 

Tony laughed. “Kid, you can call me whatever you want.”

 

+

 

“Officially, Alexander Pierce, James Barnes’s adoptive father of only a few days, dislocated the boy’s arm and then never filed a police report upon James’s immediate disappearance. James said that the man’s behavior was physically violent from almost the instant they were alone in Mr. Pierce’s home,” Maria Hill said.

 

She’d arrived at the hospital in a whirl of competence and had taken care of the insurance, the police, the nurses irate over the amount of people in the room, and Bucky’s ‘father’ who she’d supposedly had arrested, but from the rage that was evident in her entire being Tony wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d foregone having him arrested and had run him over with her car instead.

 

Tony, Rhodey, and Pepper were all in the hall outside Bucky’s room, listening to Maria tell them the whole gruesome story while Bucky and Steve slept inside. Most of the Rhodes family had left to put the young and old to bed, but Tony could still hear Darlene Wilson, Sam’s mom, inside. Her voice hushed as she sang an old lullaby.

 

“Mr. Pierce called us himself to tell us James was gone and expected us to deal with it. He never informed us of James’s injury. And from James’s condition alone I think we can all agree he will not be going back into Alexander Pierce’s care.” Maria paused. She glanced at Tony and then away. “Can you think of anyone else who may want to adopt James, Mr. Stark?”

 

“Who, me?” Tony said.

 

Rhodey let out a startled laugh. “Oh god, you with two kids.”

 

Tony flailed. “Listen, Ms. Hannigan. I would take Bucky in, I totally can, I mean I have the space, the money, the whole she-bang. But like, I’m already making intricate plans on how I’m going to mess up the one kid, do you really want to make it two?”

 

Maria stared at him, no amusement or expression lighting her features. If Tony wasn’t afraid that she was considering hitting him with her car next, he would have made made a no doubt witty remark on her lack of humor. As it was, it was all he could manage to not let his fear show on his face.

 

“Excuse me,” a gentle voice interrupted them. Darlene Wilson, a small sturdy woman, who was wearing little more than a coat thrown over her pajamas, stepped into the hall. She tenderly closed the door to Bucky’s room behind her.

 

“I apologize, I overheard a bit of the conversation,” Darlene Wilson said. She was staring up at Maria Hill, her eyes looked sad and tired. “I just met Bucky a few hours ago and I gotta say I know next to nothing about him or what he’s been through. But I would be honored to take him in.”

 

There was silence in the hall. At least between the five of them. Darlene’s announcement had been so unexpected, even Maria Hill was at a loss for words.

 

Then, Rhodey said, “Aunt Darlene are you sure?”

 

Darlene reached for Rhodey’s arm and squeezed it. She tried her best to smile at him.

 

“I lost my husband about a year ago,” she admitted. “It’s just me and my boy, Sam. But we live in a building with the rest of our family. Bucky would not be short on cousins and grandparents. He’d have a whole village to raise him right.”

 

Maria Hill, who only moments ago had been focusing all of her energy on guilting Tony for all he was worth, which was a lot, seemed to loose the world from her shoulders the longer Darlene Wilson spoke.

 

“Mrs. Wilson you have no idea how relieved you’ve made me,” Maria Hill said, placing a hand on her chest. “Thank you.”

 

It was in this moment that Tony saw that Maria Hill was in the exact right career. Before, he’d assumed she was using her actual passion in intimidation to do her job in social work and that she’d be better suited as a security guard or a pro wrestler. Now he saw that she had honed her skills in intimidation from years of working with parents and children.

 

She was nearly in tears as she took Darlene Wilson’s arm and led her down the hall to talk. So relieved that someone was willing to give a deserving child a good life.

 

Pepper slid her hand into Maria Hill’s and followed them, turning only to flash Tony a perfunctory thumbs up.

 

“So,” Rhodey said, once they were alone. He reached out casually and slid his fingers between Tony’s.

 

“So,” Tony said, his mouth twitching into a smile.

 

“Are we finally going to talk about it?”

 

“You know Mr. Rhodes, I am impressed that you’ve stuck around this long. You deserve a medal, a commendation.”

 

Rhodey shrugged. “The sex was decent.”

 

“ _Decent_.” Tony gasped. He put a hand to his chest, the one that wasn’t squeezing Rhodey’s fondly.

 

“Okay, it was _alright_.”

 

“I can’t believe you want to date someone who is only _alright_ in the sex department.”

 

“Is that what we’re doing?” Rhodey asked. Tony could tell he was trying to sound nonchalant. “Are we dating?”

 

There was a moment after Rhodey said the word ‘dating’ where the age old fear crept into Tony’s heart. His fear that he would ruin their friendship, his fear that Rhodey would leave, his fear that he wasn’t good enough. But then he remembered how Steve had hugged him, how Steve thought he was good enough, how Rhodey was holding his hand and had been holding his hand for a very long time.

 

“Yup, totally officially dating,” Tony confirmed.

 

“Oh good,” Rhodey said. “Now that we are bound by not just friendship and sex, but the no doubt sturdier bond of boyfriendhood, I can finally tell you how I hate like half of your clothes.”

 

“What,” Tony said.

 

“Yeah like what are you even wearing, dude.” Rhodey pinched Tony’s shirt. “When was the last time you did your laundry? Or ironed a shirt?”

 

“I had like six trust funds growing up, I have never even seen an iron in real life,” Tony said.

 

“Oh god, you better let me take care of that right now then,” Rhodey said, doing his best to divest Tony of his shirt.

 

Tony could tell that ironing was not the sole reason Rhodey was trying to rid him of his clothes.

 

“We are in _public_ ,” Tony protested. “We are in a _hospital_.”

 

“Have you never done it in a hospital?” Rhodey asked, baffled.

 

“Once,” Tony said. “Maybe twice.”

 

“Not making a very good argument.”

 

“Not trying to,” Tony said, pulling Rhodey down so they could kiss.

 

Tony wasn’t going to lie. The sex was more than alright. He hoped it would be more than alright for the rest of his life.

 

**EPILOGUE:**

 

Tony could not believe two things:

 

  1. The Mets were in the World Series.
  2. He’d been dragged forcefully to said World Series and now had to sit through this disgrace of a ball game.



 

On his right sat Steve, decked out in Mets gear and practically in Bucky’s lap as he hollered every detail of the game they were all watching in Bucky’s ear. On his left was Rhodey, in uniform, he’d had to lead a group of vets onto the field during the seventh inning stretch. Somewhere behind him was Pepper making out with Maria Hill, which was great and all, Tony was very happy for them, but Tony was also glad they were sitting somewhere he didn’t have to watch. He didn’t need to see either of their tonsils today. And in the row in front of them were Sam and Mrs. Wilson. Sam kept turning around to steal Bucky’s cotton candy and Bucky kept pretending to be put out, but not doing a thing to stop his brother.

 

Tony had only been allowed one beer and was sipping it very slowly. He was angry that he’d been ingratiated into a family of Mets fans. He’d been complaining all day. No matter what he said though, he was wearing the leather jacket with Steve’s pin on it, even though it was eighty degrees, and he’d been turning his head to peck Rhodey on the cheek since they’d sat next to each other. Like a sap.

 

Bottom of the ninth and the game was still tied. As the inning rolled around to the tenth, Tony could hear Steve cawing about the Mets being _so close_ to winning it all.

 

A few months ago, Tony might have felt pure homicidal rage at the thought of the Mets winning the World Series. But now it was maybe happening and he felt mildly disgruntled. He had family in front of him, behind him, on either side of him. He had Rhodey holding his hand and Steve smiling at him, and a beer balanced in his small cupholder, and he barely gave a damn that he was at Citi Field witnessing a travesty in sports history.

 

He was home.

**Author's Note:**

> Probs gonna add to this at some point?? IDK man, I just really want to write a one-shot of Steve and Bucky going to prom and Tony Freaking Out because does anyone remember what /he/ did at /his/ prom?? And Rhodey being A Cool Uncle. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Thank you for reading. :')


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